


Dreams and Circus Crowds

by Selenay



Series: Dreams and Circus Crowds [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Circus, Clint Cooks, Community: trope_bingo, Coulson With a Cane, Fluff and Angst, Glitter, M/M, Permanent Injury, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/pseuds/Selenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson never joined SHIELD. Clint Barton never left the circus.</p><p>They're destined to meet anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to the wonderful Fahre for beta-ing this despite the length, talking me down from the panics when the short circus AU turned into a 27k novel, and cheerleading me the whole way. She also threw "Both Sides Now" by Joni Mitchell at me when I was stuck for titles.
> 
> This is for the Circus AU square of my [trope bingo card](http://selenay936.tumblr.com/post/39382968348/trope-bingo). It was supposed to be a short fluffy fill. It's definitely not short. And it ended up with more angst than expected. Drat these boys.

Phil Coulson tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder, opening the microwave door at the same time.

"Jeannie, how are you?" he said, shoving a frozen meal into the appliance.

"I'm the size of a whale, Phil," his sister said irritably. "How do you think I am?"

Phil slammed the door and then swore under his breath, opened the microwave and pulled the package out so he could poke the plastic cover a few times with a fork. Exploding frozen dinners were a thing no one should experience more than once in their life.

"I probably shouldn't answer that," Phil said.

"Damn right you shouldn't," Jeannie said. "Phil, are you only just nuking your supper? It's nine o'clock. Leaving aside the total lack of anything approaching nutritional value-"

"According to the box, there's at least a third of my RDA of a whole list of things in this." Phil programmed the microwave and hit start. "Some of them I can't even pronounce so they've got to be good for me."

"It's gone nine, Phil," Jeannie said severely. "You're going to get indigestion eating this late."

"That's what Tums were invented for." There was a loud snort on the other end of the phone and Phil smiled tiredly. "Did you just call to critique my eating habits or was there something else?"

"There's a whole list of things I could critique, but no. I actually called for a favour."

"Oh?" Phil said warily.

"Are you doing anything on Saturday?"

"Well, I was pl-"

"Great," Jeannie said without pausing. "You're taking Abby and Jake to the circus."

"I am?"

"You are."

Phil blinked a couple of times. "Why?"

"Because you live three streets away and they haven't seen you for six weeks."

"I was at Abby's birthday party just the other week," Phil protested.

Jeannie's annoyed sigh made the phone vibrate oddly against his ear. "Philip Jonathan Coulson. Abby's birthday was in April. It's June now."

After a moment's calculation, Phil realised that Jeannie was right. He sighed and leaned against his kitchen counter. Sometimes he didn't know where the time went.

"Phil, I need this favour," Jeannie said. "Derek and I are visiting the new birthing centre on Saturday afternoon and I can't do it with Abby and Jake. It's a win for all of us: you get to see your only niece and nephew, I don't have to wrangle them as well as Derek, and they get to go to the circus, which they've been begging me to do since the posters went up last week. So, can you?"

It would mean rearranging a couple of meetings, maybe working Sunday morning to get the Martin accounts filed on time, but Phil couldn't say no. Jeannie was right, it had been too long since he'd seen Abby and Jake. She also sounded completely exhausted and like she needed the break. If he couldn't do this one thing for her when she needed him then he had bigger problems than clients who thought two boxes of receipts and an invoice book constituted 'bookkeeping'.

"What time do you need me to pick them up?" he asked.

They made arrangements and Jeannie rang off a couple of minutes after the microwave finished cooking. Phil put the phone down on the counter behind him, making a mental note to put it back on its base later even though he knew that he'd probably forget as usual. The plastic tray was hot when he pulled it out and he had to grab an oven mitt to save his fingers from burning. Cutlery and a glass of milk were already laid out. Phil grabbed his cane, picked up his food in his free hand and limped awkwardly to the table.

***

Saturday arrived and Phil found himself handing over twenty-five dollars for two drinks, a box of popcorn and a huge bag of cotton candy. Maybe he should start telling his clients to invest in concession stands. He didn't know what the tax implications would be, but there had to be a good profit margin given the prices they charged.

Judging by the way Jake kept eyeing an enormous stuffed elephant at one of the games booths, Phil had a feeling that today was going to get very expensive.

Abby took the tray of drinks, holding it carefully and walking slowly so nothing would spill. At eight years old, she felt the responsibility of her job and behaved accordingly. Phil kept the popcorn and handed the cotton candy to Jake with an admonishment not to eat any until they got into the circus tent. Their walk to the tent was unhurried, partially due to the kids and partially due to the uneven ground, which forced Phil to move more slowly than usual. His cane kept him from a couple of stumbles when his bad leg caught on thick tufts of grass and ruts in the dried mud.

It was a warm, beautiful day and Romanov's Circus had set up in a field just outside Ashdale. Their posters hadn't been the big, flashy things Phil had associated with the circus when he was a kid, which was why he hadn't noticed them until Jeannie pointed them out. They were the first sign that there was something different about this circus: the posters had been discreet pieces of artwork in black, white and silver with only a tiny splash of red on the beautiful curlicue 'R' in one corner.

The mishmash of games booths and concession stands in the front half of the field were as loud as Phil had expected but somehow they didn't look tacky. Instead the artwork decorating the stands was bright, clean and inviting.

Despite the subtle advertising campaign it seemed like half of Ashdale had turned out for Romanov's opening performance. Phil recognised two families from his street and one of Jeannie's friends before he'd gone more than a few feet from the popcorn seller and he breathed a sigh of relief when they nodded to him without stopping to talk. People always seemed to think that seeing him on a social occasion was a chance to ask him about their tax problems.

Between the heat and the hundreds of feet trampling everything down, the formerly green pasture was already turning into a dust bowl. Phil limped along behind the children as they followed the crowds flowing to the main tent.

He hadn't been to a circus since he and Jeannie were kids and his memories of it were faint. The smell of sugar and popcorn and the sound of loud carnival music only brought back vague impressions of lights and laughter and terrifying clowns. The overlay of animal dung that he remembered was missing and Phil was glad of it: he'd never liked seeing the majestic elephants and lions reduced to stunts for bored children.

The main tent wasn't what he was expecting either. Instead of the traditional red and white, the tent was striped black and white with silver trim at the edges and somehow it was still clean and fresh despite the dust in the air and the years of use it had probably seen. Phil was starting to get the impression that whoever ran this circus took pride in every aspect of their work.

 

Inside the tent there were the usual tiered stands of seating towering above the entrances. The children led the way to seats at the front where they would be able to see most of what happened without forcing Phil to climb the rickety wooden steps to loftier views near the back.

Jake and Abby sat on either side of him and Phil was given custody of the popcorn and cotton candy so neither of them could claim unfair distribution. It also meant that he got to eat a few kernels of the salty, buttery corn he'd paid extortionate amounts of money for, which he felt was the least he deserved. Jeannie was probably going to kill him for this later but Phil had always seen it as his duty as an uncle to spoil his niece and nephew with junk food.

The lights went down and the audience quieted, even the more restless children feeling the change in atmosphere. A single spotlight beamed down on the centre of the circus ring, highlighting a slim young woman dressed in a classic ringmaster's rig. She bowed, sweeping her hat off to reveal bright red hair, and then gestured around the ring grandly for a moment before the light went out again.

It confirmed that this was going to be no ordinary circus. Both children gasped when something that looked like a swarm of fireflies flowed into the ring. After a minute of breathless anticipation, lights began to glow near the ground to reveal that they were watching men and women juggling balls and batons that glowed in the low light.

Phil clapped and sighed with everyone else as they were entertained by troupes of acrobats, trapeze artists, jugglers, and ethereal creatures that might have been clowns in another circus but here were something almost friendly. Throughout the performance the lights were as likely to hide something as illuminate it, which only added to the magic.

As wonderful as it was, Phil didn't get completely caught up in the performance until near the end when a single spotlight blinked on and something caught in Phil's chest.

A man stood completely motionless in the centre of the ring. He held a bow loosely in one hand and there was a quiver slung across his back, the strap over his chest cutting across his sparkling skin like a black knife. Everything about him glittered and caught the light, from his hair to the seams of his tight black pants. The shimmering sparkles highlighted the planes of his face and cast the laughter lines into shadow. A dark cloth was tied across his eyes and for a moment Phil thought he was blindfolded, until he noticed the way the man's eyelashes flashed against the cloth as he blinked.

The entire audience seemed to hold their breath as the man slowly raised his bow, pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked it. Thick muscles in his back and arms shifted and gleamed as he drew and released in one swift movement. The arrow sped through the air, its fletchings glowing almost like fire as it went, and just as it seemed as though it would surely hit someone in the audience a target lit up and the arrow hit the centre.

There was a loud gasp from the audience and Phil thought he caught a hint of a smirk on the archer's face before his expression returned to blank concentration.

Phil couldn't take his eyes off the archer as he stalked around the ring, firing arrows at targets that never appeared until his arrows were almost at them. His bow was black with deep purple tints when the light caught it just right and for a long time it was the only colour in the ring. Then red, shiny streamers began slowly fluttering down from above and the audience gasped in one collective, indrawn breath. The archer seemed to watch them for a long moment, gauging their descent, before moving into action. His hands flew as he released arrow after arrow so fast Phil could barely follow, pinning every arrow to the boards surrounding the ring without missing or letting the tail of the streamer touch the ground.

The applause was deafening but the archer didn't pause to acknowledge it. Phil was so busy clapping and admiring the neatly skewered streamers he didn't see the moment when the archer was pulled into the air. He was only aware that suddenly the man was swooping low around the audience, firing arrows at almost invisible marks on the floor, and Phil followed the flight barely aware that he was holding his breath. Bright sparks seemed to pour out in the archer's wake and spectators laughed and applauded when glitter drifted down to coat their hair and shirts.

One final arrow was released and it must have been a trigger because all the arrows that had been standing up in the ground burst into bright, pure white fire. Phil squinted but his seat was too low to see more than a hint at an intricate logo in the flames.

As abruptly as the arrows had caught light, they suddenly went dark and when the purple afterimage had faded from his vision Phil realised with disappointment that the archer was gone. There was a quiet trumpet sound and a display of knife fighting began that was closer to dancing than combat. The two women were dressed entirely in white and gold and Phil recognised the red hair of the ringmaster.

Nothing else the circus offered felt quite as real and alive as the archer, though. Phil clapped and smiled with Jake and Abby but his eyes were constantly roving, trying to catch a glimpse of the man under the makeup of the tumblers and acrobats. None of them had his build.

He didn't see the archer again until the end, when the ringmaster appeared again in her jacket and boots and the rest of the performers entered to receive their applause. Phil's eyes were drawn like magnets to the bright, glittering presence at the centre of the crowd and he clapped as loudly as Abby. He watched the man as he waved and didn't quite smile for a few moments before everything went suddenly dark.

When the lights came back up, the ring was empty. The audience clapped for a few more moments before the applause petered out as everyone realised the circus folk wouldn't be back.

Phil felt oddly bereft.

***

It was suppertime when Phil took Abby, Jake and a plush elephant almost as large as the boy home. Jeannie looked pale and exhausted when she opened the door. Even her dark curls were limp and sad.

"Have you eaten?" he asked as she briefly hugged him.

Jeannie kissed his cheek and released him. "Not yet."

"Want me to bring you some Chinese?"

It was a testament to how completely worn out Jeannie was that she said yes immediately instead of making a crack about Phil's diet. He was back with two bags of hot takeout an hour later, trying to juggle his cane and the food so he could knock at the door. Jeannie smiled at him as she opened the door and took the food and Phil realised as he followed her just how tired he was as well. The meal was warm and quiet, with Jake almost falling asleep in his cashew chicken and Derek taking his plate into the living room to eat in front of a football game. Phil helped Jeannie put the kids to bed and she sent him home with boxes of fried rice and lemon chicken.

It was still relatively early by the time he'd put the boxes away and locked up the house but he was feeling strange in his skin, too tired and too unsettled all at once. 

Phil decided it was probably the effects of too much sun, too much junk food and several late nights at work in a row so he went to bed early and didn't even have to take any painkillers to soothe his leg before he fell asleep.

His dreams were the usual ones, filled with fire and things that nipped at his skin. He couldn't move, couldn't escape, and it was the sense of being trapped that finally wrenched him out of sleep so he could breathe and remind himself it wasn't real. The clock told him that it was barely past midnight so he lay down and eventually fell into a sleep that was mercifully free of dreams. 

***

The vague feeling of unreality was still there when Phil woke on Sunday, but by the time he'd showered, eaten a breakfast of toast and coffee, and pulled out the boxes for the Martin account he was starting to feel more normal.

Tax law and liabilities and a client with a hazy notion of bookkeeping were sure to bring anyone back to earth.

Phil spent the day working, the files and books spread over his kitchen table. Every time he got up to make coffee, get snacks, or just stretch the cramps out of his leg, Phil told himself that he wasn't going back to the circus. Definitely not, no way, he wasn't going. He told himself that as he reheated the leftover Chinese food and gulped it down and he even tried to tell himself that he was just going for a drive when he got in the car.

By the time he'd bought a ticket and made his careful way into the tent, maintaining his denial was impossible. There were only a few seats left near the front and Phil didn't realise he was sitting in almost exactly the same place as yesterday until he looked up and recognised the gouges in the rail in front of him. He considered moving but the lights went down before he could stand so he shrugged and settled in to watch. It was silly to be worried about how it would appear if he sat here again. Who was going to notice, anyway?

A nagging voice at the back of his mind had been insisting all day that yesterday's magic was a one off, he'd never experience it again. And it was true that he didn't get as caught up in the performance as he had the first time, but he refused to admit that it was because he was waiting for the archer until the ethereal almost-clowns appeared. They did their tricks and Phil's eyes were drawn to one, who might have been the archer except Phil thought he remembered broader shoulders.

When a single spotlight finally revealed the glittering archer, Phil released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Everything was as he remembered: the targets that only appeared at the last possible moment, the stark black and white of everything except the bow, the occasional hints of a smile or smirk breaking through his expression of complete concentration.

It was those hints at a personality beneath the costume and make up that Phil realised he'd been caught by. Yes, the man's appearance was what had drawn his eye, but without those tiny moments of a person breaking through he would have just been a pretty face. Admittedly a pretty face with beautiful biceps, but still nothing special.

This time Phil didn't let himself get distracted by the streamers so he saw the moment the archer was smoothly lifted into the air and the way his muscles tensed slightly until he relaxed into the motion. Phil followed the flight around the tent with his eyes, noting this time that the sparks the man trailed seemed to come from the soles of his boots and turn to glitter as they landed on the audience. His path didn't take him over Phil, which should have been a good thing because Phil hated the idea of being coated with stuff that sparkled. He found himself regretting it instead for no reason he could understand.

Then the final arrow was fired, lighting the ones already embedded in the ground, and Phil looked at them even though he told himself not to, trying to work out the pattern they'd made. By the time the flames went out and the afterimages cleared from his vision, the archer was gone and the knife fighters were back.

This time the archer stood next to the red-headed ringmaster at the end and Phil caught a half smile on his face as he waved. Phil clapped as vigorously as everyone else and tried not to feel disappointed when the lights went down and the performers disappeared.

***

His dreams that night were as terrifying as always, but for one brief moment there was a break in the flames and he could breathe again. He couldn't remember later what had replaced the flames, only that it was something that felt cool and soothing. The break didn't last and Phil woke up with a gasp, fighting his sheets until he could move and breathe again.


	2. Chapter 2

Phil was in his office before seven on Monday morning. He told himself that it was because he had a lot to do, including a couple of client meetings, and was absolutely not in hopes of leaving early enough to go back to the circus that evening.

Myrna Allen, the practice's office manager, secretary and occasional ass-kicker, arrived an hour later. It was Myrna who made clients tremble when they arrived with three hundred scraps of paper shoved in a cardboard box in lieu of proper books, not Phil or his partner, and even Phil sometimes winced slightly under her glare if he did something she felt was inexcusable in a grown man. She was also the person who kept the office running and made sure neither of her bosses worked themselves into the hospital during tax season so Phil half expected her to make a remark when she found him at his desk and obviously already deeply into his work.

All she did was put a large cup of coffee and a bag of fresh doughnuts on his desk. She rolled her eyes when he immediately pounced on the coffee and Phil wondered exactly when he'd started spending so many hours in the office that Myrna could predict him well enough to bring him breakfast. He hadn't even noticed that they had fallen into a routine until today.

Quiet voices and doors opening announced his partner's arrival later, but Myrna must have warned Richard that Phil was busy because he didn't stop by to say hello. Phil kept his head down and worked, barely talking to anyone unless he needed Myrna to find a file or photocopy something. He ate lunch at his desk, endured his meetings, and advised a client not to invest in a scheme he was sure was a scam in the sure knowledge that his client would ignore the advice completely.

He was just an accountant, what could he possibly know about financial scams after all?

At the back of his mind all day, even though he told himself not to think about it, there was the tantalising promise of maybe going to the circus again. 

Just one more visit, he told himself as he locked up the office.

This would be the last night, he insisted as he nuked a ready meal.

They'd be moving on soon, he reminded himself as his car bumped over the field serving as a parking lot.

The seat Phil had started thinking of as 'his' was free again and he patted the familiar gouges on the railing as he hung his cane on it and sat down. When the red-headed ringmaster appeared in the centre of the ring, Phil sat back and prepared to enjoy. Even though he knew the flow of the acts now, Phil could still feel the magic of the lights and beauty stealing in. He was starting to see the hints of movement as performers got into position while the lights were down and it only added an extra sense of drama to everything.

Phil still didn't see the moment the archer stepped into the ring. He was watching, waiting for the shift of shadows in the darkness, but there was nothing. The spotlight came up and the archer was just _there_ , his skin glittering as he raised the bow and nocked an arrow.

Watching him move around the ring was mesmerising and Phil couldn't tear his eyes away. He was waiting almost breathlessly for the tiny hint of a smile and he frowned when he saw the archer's mouth draw down slightly instead. A moment later he realised why, as an arrow hit its target slightly off-centre. It still drew gasps from the audience because the target looked so small but Phil could see the way the archer's muscles shifted and tightened around his neck. He was a perfectionist and this hint of human error made him angry at himself.

Phil could sympathise all too well.

The end came too soon and Phil, yet again, couldn't quite make out the pattern in the flames. He cheered with everyone else when the performers returned to the ring for their final bows and pretended to himself as he left that he wouldn't be back tomorrow.

***

Tuesday morning was similar to Monday, except Phil checked his calendar and felt his heart sink when he realised that he was supposed to be meeting a client late in the afternoon. He'd been able to pretend he wasn't going back to the circus until that moment, when he realised that even leaving straight from the meeting might not get him there before the opening acts.

Myrna brought him coffee and a doughnut when she arrived and Phil had to buy a dozen raffle tickets for the latest high school fundraiser before she handed either of them over. It wasn't a satisfying breakfast and by late morning Phil was hungry and he'd discovered that he'd left his lunch on the counter at home. He considered asking Myrna to pick him up a sandwich while she was out at lunch but a quick glance at her expression when he walked over to Richard's office quickly persuaded him that wouldn't be a good idea. It looked like Bill Abrahams was trying to settle his bills with produce again and they'd all agreed years ago that even in the heart of farming land, bills needed to be paid with money because the electricity company refused to be paid in carrots.

There were a couple of sad microwave meals in the freezer in the practice break room and Phil briefly considered heating one up, but his stomach rebelled at the thought. Instead he pulled on his jacket, packed up a stack of journals and drove the two blocks over to Eddie's diner. The scent of meatloaf and mashed potato made his stomach growl the moment he opened the door and Phil decided that this was a much better idea than eating a sandwich at his desk.

He took a seat at the counter, sliding onto the high stool awkwardly due to his bad leg. Mandy was there almost before he was settled, pouring a cup of coffee and holding out a menu with a raised eyebrow. She chuckled when he ordered without even looking and told him that everyone had ordered the meatloaf so far today.

The coffee was good and Phil drank slowly while he read through his documents and waited for his food. He only became aware that someone had sat down on the stool next to him when the man's elbow accidentally caught a page and moved it.

Phil looked up just in time to catch the man smiling at him. He thought he recognised the smile and the lines it carved around his mouth, but the face was unfamiliar. The black t-shirt, worn black jeans and heavy black boots provided no clues and Phil would have sworn that he'd never him before.

Except the man's smile was definitely directed at him and it made his eyes light up, which indicated that the man knew him.

"Hi, sorry about that," the man said, gesturing to the papers that had been disturbed.

Phil waved away the apology. "It's no problem."

There was a small frown for a moment and then the expression cleared. "Huh, that's where I know you from.

"I'm sorry?" Phil asked.

The man grinned at him and held out a hand. "Clint Barton. I recognise you from the circus."

Phil held out a hand out of pure habit, allowing Barton to shake it and not really taking in the strength of his grip or the calluses on his fingers. "Phil Coulson."

"Pleased to meet you," Barton said cheerfully and Phil had to have imagined that the handshake had lasted a shade too long.

He was still trying to puzzle out where Barton could have recognised him from. The ticket sellers had been women and the man selling popcorn had been at least twenty years older. Phil was sure he would have remembered sitting near someone who looked like Barton, with his broad shoulders, muscular arms and cheerful smirk...

Phil felt heat in his face as he realised who Clint Barton was.

"The archer," Phil said, trying not to sound accusatory although he suspected that he'd failed. "At the circus. You're the guy who shoots at invisible targets."

Barton's smile widened. "That's me. Hawkeye, World's Greatest Marksman. Or whatever the shit is we put on the poster this tour. I shoot at stuff."

"How did you recognise me?" Phil frowned. "How did you _see_ me?"

"I see everything," Barton said with a shrug. "You've been in the same seat every night I've been here. I notice that kind of thing."

"You notice who is in the audience from that far away?"

"It's one of those things."

Barton smiled as Mandy approached and put a plate loaded with meatloaf, mashed potato and green beans on the counter on top of Phil's papers. She smiled back and Phil definitely wasn't imagining that there was a hint of flirtatiousness there that she never used on him. He couldn't decide whether he was feeling protective of her or irritated that she was flirting with Barton. And if he was irritated, he didn't really want to think about why.

"What can I get you, sweetie?" Mandy asked.

Barton waved to Phil's plate. "I'll have what he's having. It smells great."

"You won't regret it," she said with another flirty smile.

Mandy poured a cup of coffee and set it down in front of Barton before disappearing into the kitchen. Phil rolled his eyes and carefully extracted his work from under his plate, stacking the pages neatly and setting them aside so he could eat. Barton was right, it smelled amazing and Phil realised with a lurch that this was the first meal he'd eaten that hadn't come out of a box or a takeout container for at least a week. Maybe Jeannie had a point about his diet.

"So, did I make the right choice?" Barton asked when Phil had taken his first bite.

He chewed slowly and swallowed. "Probably."

"Good to know."

Phil watched Barton out of the corner of his eye as he ate. There were flecks of glitter still in his hair and on his skin that sparkled when the light caught them just right. It was hard to look away and Phil told himself that it was just the light that was catching his eye and not the man under the glitter. That illusion was shattered when Barton's own plate of food arrived and he tasted the first bite. The expression on his face was almost indecent and Phil had to take a large gulp of coffee because his throat suddenly went dry.

"This is amazing," Barton said as he lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes to his lips. "Fucking amazing."

"I assume they feed you at the circus," Phil said as he watched Barton demolish half his food in short order.

Barton grinned and gestured with his fork. "We all feed ourselves. But have you tried cooking a good meal with a stove that runs off a gas bottle? Not exactly high-end cooking, if you know what I mean."

As Phil's ability to cook was limited to opening and heating cans of soup, he shrugged and ate some more potato.

"Now, I've eaten a lot of diner food over the years," Barton continued, "but this is definitely some of the best. It's not bought in frozen and reheated; this stuff was cooked today from scratch."

"You can tell that?" Phil asked.

"You can't?"

Phil shrugged again and scraped up a final bite of meatloaf. When he looked up, Barton was studying him curiously. He felt his ears heat at that intense gaze and couldn't decide whether he wanted Barton to look away or not.

"So, you read the latest additions to the tax code over lunch, you always wear suits even at the circus and you don't cook." Barton narrowed his eyes. "Probably living on takeout and boxed crap in the microwave. I've figured you out, Coulson."

"Oh?" Phil set down his fork and raised an eyebrow. "What have you figured out?"

Barton grinned. "You're a secret ninja."

It took Phil a moment to process that and when he did, the bark of laughter burst out before he knew it was there. "Secret ninja?"

The grin widened and Phil was distracted by a tiny of fleck of something shiny in Clint's eyelashes.

"Well, I'd say accountant but that would definitely be wrong for you," Barton said. "Too boring. Too buttoned up."

Laughter caught Phil by surprise again. "I'm starting to question your eyesight."

Barton lifted his coffee cup and shrugged. "I see what I see."

Before Phil could say anything more, Mandy was back and her red lips curved in another smile. "How was that, sweetie?"

"Delicious." Barton grinned at her. "We're both in awe."

She flicked Phil a quick look before turning her attention back to Barton. "Can I get you anything else?"

It was clearly supposed to be a line setting up something, perhaps giving Barton a chance to get her number, but Barton peered over at the shelf behind her instead.

"Coulson, how are the pies here?"

Phil shrugged. "They taste like pie."

Barton rolled his eyes. "I'll take a slice of apple."

"Sure, sweetie." The smile on Mandy's face was a little more forced when she turned to Phil. "And you?"

"Lemon meringue," Phil said.

She exchanged their empty plates for ones with their chosen pieces of pie and left, this time not bothering to do more than smile politely now it was clear Barton wasn't interested in her.

"I thought you'd be more the blueberry pie type," Barton said after he'd worshipped his slice of apple pie with appropriately inappropriate expressions.

Phil savoured the sweet-tart flavour his pie. "Then you'd be wrong."

"Not a fruit pie kind of guy, then," Barton said. "Good to know."

"Why do you need to know?"

Barton's smile was somewhere between a smirk and something else that made Phil need to look away. "It's always good to know how a guy feels about pie. Don't you think?"

It was either the cheesiest pick-up line Phil had heard in a long time or he was reading far too much into this. "I haven't needed to form an opinion before."

"I really doubt that," Barton said before abruptly changing the subject. "So, are you coming to watch us again tonight?"

"I hadn't planned to," Phil lied smoothly.

"Aw, Coulson, you can't abandon us now." Barton speared a piece of apple. "Stacey will miss you."

"Stacey?"

"The fire eater girl."

Phil allowed a small smile. "I doubt she'll notice whether I'm there or not."

"Maybe." Barton shrugged. "But you never know."

"I know." Phil drained the last of his coffee and waved to Mandy. "I have to get back."

"Secret ninja duties?" Barton asked lightly.

"Something like that." Phil counted out some bills, gathered up his papers and slid awkwardly to the floor. His knee had seized up slightly while he sat and he had to flex it a couple of times before it would straighten properly. He picked up his cane and saw Barton's eyes widen. It was a look he'd grown used to seeing on peoples' faces but it still hurt sometimes. "It was nice to meet you."

"Sure." Barton's eyes flicked down to Phil's hand on the cane handle before returning to meet his eyes. "Hope I'll see you tonight."

"Maybe. It depends."

"On what?"

Phil couldn't help the smile or stop his response. "Secret ninja duties."

It was the closest he'd been to flirting in years and he had hoped to make a smooth, graceful exit. Trying to juggle his cane, his folder of notes, and open the heavy door all at once didn't feel graceful and he was relieved when he managed it without dropping anything. He didn't dare look back when he finally got through the door and onto the street because he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to see. 

***

Of course Phil went to the circus again. Not going would have been impossible now that he'd met Barton.

His meeting ran late so he was barely halfway to his seat when the lights went out. There were ropes of LED lights marking the aisles, but the ground was uneven and he had to move carefully or risk an embarrassing fall. The ringmaster was already giving her introductory bow when he finally reached his usual seat.

Something glittering on the back of the chair made him pause, to the irritation of the people behind. It was an envelope taped to the hard plastic so he pulled it away before sitting down. There was a solid ache in his leg from walking around a property his client was considering investing in and Phil knew this was going to be one of the bad nights.

The paper in his hand crinkled slightly, distracting him from the firefly glow of the jugglers. He could feel something small and hard inside, but it was too dark to investigate properly so Phil tucked it into his jacket pocket and tried to put both his curiosity and throbbing leg out of his mind so he could enjoy the circus properly.

It would probably be his last visit, after all.

Probably.

Barton appeared, as always, out of the darkness with no hint about how he'd got there. Phil felt his lips pull into a smile because now that he'd seen Barton up close, he could imagine the smirks and grins he tried to hide under the impassive expression. He admired the way the light caught on Barton's arms and back as his muscles shifted under his glittering skin. Barton prowled the ring, lithe and beautiful, and tonight every arrow hit its target precisely in the centre.

Phil probably imagined that Barton seemed to look in his direction during their finale.

He didn't think about the envelope again until he got home and felt the odd ridge of it as he hung up his jacket. The paper was black and his name was written on the front in ink that sparkled under the light. An arrow head tipped into his hand when he opened it and Phil smiled at the hint of deep purple inside the black, triangular metal. There was nothing else in the envelope and Phil couldn't work out what Barton was telling him.

***

He slept badly that night, his leg aching fiercely despite painkillers, and when he did drift into light dozes they weren't restful. The fire dreams came first and Phil woke up gasping and fighting the sheets with his heart racing as though he'd been running. After a couple of hours he gave up on sleep and tried to read but his book was dull and his leg was hurting so he couldn't concentrate.

Toward dawn he slipped into another light doze but this time his dreams were different. They were filled with laughing blue eyes and bright, glittering skin that left Phil's heart thundering in his chest for entirely different reasons.


	3. Chapter 3

Phil dragged himself to work the next morning despite eyes that were gritty with sleep and a leg that was still aching badly. By midmorning he'd drunk enough coffee to upset his stomach and he was miserable. He was tempted to give in and go home, where he could at least take something for his leg and try to sleep. Except he'd never given in to it before and he was damn well not giving in today.

When someone knocked on his office door he was tempted to send them away with an irritated roar, but the door opened to reveal Jeannie carrying two paper cups and he couldn't.

She looked a lot better than she had at the weekend, colour back in her face and her dark curly hair springing everywhere. Phil smiled at her as she waddled in and she made a face before holding out his cup and putting hers on the table.

"Laugh it up, big brother," she said as she lowered herself carefully into his guest chair. "You try walking normally with half a ton of baby hanging off your stomach."

The coffee was sweet and creamy, which Phil didn't normally like but today it felt good on his raw stomach. "I'll pass, thank you."

"Good choice." Jeannie picked up her cup and took a sip. "God, I miss coffee."

"You know the latest research-"

"Doesn't take into account the way coffee makes me throw up when I'm pregnant," Jeannie said with a grimace. "Why do I keep doing this?"

Phil decided not to answer that because there were some things he'd learned never to say when Jeannie was pregnant and moody. Pointing out that she was the one who kept getting pregnant was at the top of that list. Instead he took another sip of his drink and smiled at her.

"Not that I'm not grateful, but why are you making coffee deliveries today?" he asked.

"I was in the neighbourhood," Jeannie said lightly. "Jake's having a growth spurt and all his jeans are two inches too short."

"Uh huh." Phil raised an eyebrow. "It's June. He's living in shorts."

Jeannie flushed. "Also, I wanted to talk to you."

"You couldn't call?"

"You can't lie when I'm sitting right here. I know all your tells." Jeannie fixed him with a glare. "So, spill."

"Spill what?"

She rolled her eyes. "You were seen. Having lunch with a good looking younger man who may or may not be from the circus. And according to my source, there was definitely flirting."

Phil tried very hard not to wince.

"You've also been spotted at the circus on multiple occasions," Jeannie continued. "Specifically, all the evening performances. So, spill. You can't keep a secret like that in a town like this."

"There's nothing to tell you," Phil said, keeping his expression as bland as he could despite the mixture of embarrassment and exasperation churning in his stomach. "I ran into someone from the circus in Eddie's yesterday, we ate lunch at the same time. That's all."

"Really," Jeannie said skeptically. "That's all. I've been fielding calls from half the women in town over an innocent coincidence, have I?"

"Half the women in town?" Phil said faintly.

"At least." Jeannie waved her paper cup. "Fuck, Phil, you knew what this place was like when you moved back. The town's only gay war hero accountant has lunch with a guy who apparently has a great ass and flirts with you and you don't think it's going to be big news?"

"I didn't know people were watching me so closely," Phil said.

It was true, he'd always assumed that he was one of the least interesting residents in Ashdale. Everything interesting he'd done had been a decade ago so why would anyone be watching what he did now? He was just a quiet, middle-aged accountant with a bad leg.

"They do," Jeannie said firmly. "It's the juiciest piece of gossip they've had since Bill in the hardware store got arrested for a DUI on a Sunday morning."

"Oh." Phil took a sip of coffee while he thought. He could feel Jeannie watching him carefully, which didn't help to calm his mind. "There's still nothing to tell. I've been back to the circus a couple of times and Barton happened to sit next to me at lunch yesterday."

"Hah!" Jeannie crowed triumphantly. "You got his name! That's not nothing, Phil. That's something. It means you talked to him beyond just 'pass the salt' stuff."

Phil sighed as he realised that talking around it wasn't going to put Jeannie off. He'd need to tell her at least part of what was going on or she'd keep prodding and poking until she had everything. It was in her nature and if the town gossips were already harassing her then she wouldn't be able to just forget about it. Not that there was much to tell and Phil kind of wanted to keep some of it private.

"His name is Clint Barton and he does the arrow tricks over at the circus," Phil said steadily. "That's all I know about him."

Except that he cooks, he makes ridiculous faces over good food and he likes to know about a guy's pie preferences, Phil thought, but he didn't add it because those things seemed too personal.

Jeannie searched his face and finally sighed. "OK, I believe you. Nothing's happening. But something might?"

"No," Phil said. "Definitely not. I'll probably never see him again."

"Not even if you go to the circus again tonight?"

"I won't."

"Maybe staying home tonight would be a good idea." Jeannie frowned. "You look like shit, Phil. You should try sleeping sometimes, I hear it's great for that kind of thing."

"Remind me again why I don't have standing instructions to bar you from my office?"

Jeannie grinned. "Because you love me."

***

Phil told himself that he was only going to Eddie's for lunch again because he'd forgotten to bring any food to the office. The microwave meals in the office break room still looked sad and unappetising and Eddie's, at least, had vaguely nutritious food. He definitely wasn't hoping to run into Barton again.

Tidying up a little in the washroom before he left the office was just good a good policy that he should try to do more. Nothing to do with anything else.

He ignored the way his stomach sank when he walked into the diner and all the stools at the counter were empty. Mandy smiled at him and Phil remembered with an internal groan that she knew Jeannie through their church. She'd probably been one of the people calling Jeannie for more information.

This was the kind of thing he should have remembered at the time and he wasn't going to admit, even to himself, that he'd been too distracted by Barton's eyes to think about consequences.

His leg was stiff and sore but he slid up onto the stool anyway and put his small stack of tax journals on the counter. The air was rich with the smell of garlic bread and tomato sauce and Phil sniffed appreciatively.

"Do you want a menu or should I just bring you the special?" Mandy asked with a grin.

"I'll take the special and a glass of milk," Phil said, ignoring the knowing look she was giving him and the empty stool next to him.

She disappeared into the kitchen and Phil settled to read his journals. The bell above the door dinged before he'd even read the first paragraph and, against his will, Phil looked up.

Barton was grinning he approached and Phil felt a flush start somewhere around the back of his neck and pass up over his ears because that grin was definitely aimed right at him. Even if he'd been able to ignore that, Barton went immediately to the stool next to Phil's despite there being four others free.

"Hi," Barton said as he folded his arms on the counter. "Fancy seeing you here."

Phil allowed one corner of his mouth to tip up into a small half smile. "Yes, just fancy the coincidence of me being in a diner two blocks from my office."

"But you don't come in every day." At Phil's raised eyebrow, Barton shrugged. "You weren't in Monday."

"How did you know that?"

"Because I was here and you weren't." Barton's grin widened. "So you being here twice in a row has to mean something."

"It could just mean that I haven't been to the store lately," Phil said.

"Or you could be here to try some more pie," Barton said with an expression that was suspiciously close to a leer.

Phil stared at him, trying to decide whether this was another terrible pick-up line or whether Barton was actually serious about flirting with him. The return of Mandy, carrying a plate piled with spaghetti, meatballs and garlic toast, was actually a relief.

She put the food down on the counter and smiled at Barton. "Can I get you anything, sweetie?"

It was a relief to have Barton's eyes off him for a moment even if Barton did throw Mandy a flirty smile when he turned to her.

"Pasta looks good," Barton said.

Mandy's eyes lit up. "It sure does, hon. Coffee?"

"Would be awesome," Barton said.

The door dinged again and Mandy had to hurry away to see to other customers after pouring Barton his coffee. Phil sampled his pasta, only realising after he took his first bite just how inelegant this particular meal could be. Not that he had an interest in looking good in front of Barton, of course, but there were certain rules for meals with company and spaghetti broke at least half of them.

"Good?" Barton asked.

"It's not bad," Phil said.

There was an awkward silence and then Barton cleared his throat. "So. I saw you again last night."

"I was concerned about your fire eating friend missing me," Phil said dryly.

"She would have," Barton said. "I have it on good authority that she would have been disappointed if you hadn't been there."

"Oh." Phil hesitated before saying. "Was the envelope on my seat from your 'friend'?"

Barton shrugged. "It's just something I...uh, she had lying around. Thought you might like it."

"I did."

Anything Phil might have added was lost when Mandy returned with Barton's plate of food. She had barely put it on the counter when Barton started digging in, slicing into a meatball and loading up his fork with sauce and spaghetti. Phil didn't even realise he was waiting until he saw the happy expression on Barton's eyes as he chewed. Apparently Barton had never learned the rules of polite meals with company because he seemed completely unembarrassed about slurping up an escapee noodle or wiping away a smear of sauce from the corner of his mouth with a thumb.

"Hungry?" Phil asked.

He had to force his eyes away from watching Barton eat to concentrate on his own meal.

"Spent all morning working with Nat on a new trick she wants to add on our next stop," Barton said, taking a huge bite of garlic toast.

"Next stop," Phil repeated. "When do you move on?"

Barton swallowed quickly. "Last show's on Friday."

"I'm surprised you stuck around this long. Ashdale isn't a big town."

"It's within easy driving distance of half a dozen other towns," Barton pointed out. "We've been nearly sold out every night and most of the matinees." He smirked. "Although our return visitors do help."

Phil refused to let himself flush. "What's the new trick?"

He listened as Barton described the plans he had, his eyes bright and his hands moving constantly to demonstrate the angles of arrows and targets and wires. Glitter sparked in Barton's hair and Phil didn't take in everything because he kept getting distracted by the way Barton's face crinkled a little when he smiled.

Talking about the new trick led to Phil asking where he'd learned his trade and for a moment Barton's expression went dark. Then his face cleared and the smile that appeared was dazzling enough to make Phil almost forget the other look.

"I ran away to the circus when I was a kid," Barton said. "Learned a lot of it there. And then I ran away from that circus and bummed around for a couple of years but there's not much good work out there for a guy who's only legal skill is archery. When old man Cusak offered a place in his circus I took it and I've never wanted to leave."

Phil could see from his expression that Barton had possibly explained more than he was comfortable with and he was grateful to Mandy when she bustled over with fresh coffee and milk. She raised an eyebrow and nodded to the display of pies and cakes behind her.

"Can I interest you in anything else?" she asked.

Barton pretended to peer behind her. "I don't know. What do you think, Coulson?"

Phil didn't know whether there was an extra meaning behind the question or what it would be if there was. So he shrugged and asked for lemon meringue pie again, which seemed to be the right answer from Barton's smile.

Barton ordered the apple pie and Mandy brought them their desserts and took away their plates with a wide smile. 

"Is it my imagination," Barton asked as he carefully sliced away a corner of crust, "or are we being watched?"

Phil turned a little to see Mandy half-hidden in the door to the kitchen. She was definitely watching.

"It's a small town," Phil said. "You and I are the latest juicy gossip, according to my sister."

"Oh." Barton chewed thoughtfully. "Can't be much happening here if two guys having lunch is a scandal."

"It depends a lot on who the two guys are." Phil scooped up some meringue. "When it's me and someone like..."

"Me?" Barton asked blandly.

"Someone like you, yes." Phil shrugged and offered him a rueful smile. "When someone like me and someone like you have lunch together two days in a row, it's gossip." 

"Huh." Phil half-expected Barton to probe further, ask questions that he wasn't sure how to answer yet, but Barton surprised him by asking, "So, just the one sister?"

Somehow Phil found himself describing Jeannie, Abby and Jake, telling Barton stories about them and feeling something warm in his belly when Barton laughed in all the right places. The pies and the diner's lunch crowd were long gone when there was a quiet chime and Barton frowned before extracting a phone from his jeans pocket. Phil ducked his head and pretended to study his plate while Barton read a message and immediately hit a button to make a call. He tried to ignore the quiet conversation and he smiled gratefully at Mandy when she quietly moved in to take away the plates and check whether he wanted another drink.

Barton sighed heavily when he closed the phone and Phil raised an eyebrow.

"Do you know where St Theresa's is?" Barton asked.

"It's in Burnton," Phil said. "About half an hour's drive."

"Fuck." Barton stood and pulled a few bills out of his pocket. "Is there a bus there or anything?"

"Hasn't been for ten years, sweetie," Mandy said.

"Fuck."

"What's happened?" Phil asked.

Barton ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "One of our trapeze artists had a fall. I need to get over there, Nat said that's where the EMTs are taking her."

"Don't you have a car?" Phil frowned. "How did you get here without a car?"

"I hitched a ride when Nat came in to the bank," Barton said with a casual shrug. "I was going to walk back."

"You were going to walk five miles with a show tonight?" Phil asked incredulously.

"I don't think we'll be doing a show tonight," Barton said. "The police are crawling all over everything, that's why Nat can't leave."

Phil didn't allow himself to think before he said, "I could take you over to the hospital, if it would help?"

The look of complete gratitude Barton gave him was probably a very bad sign. He'd never been good at resisting people who needed his help.


	4. Chapter 4

Phil had intended to just drive Barton to the hospital and drop him there. It wasn't as though he knew Barton well and he'd seen enough of hospitals to last him a lifetime. Just driving him was more than most people would do, after all, and Phil had a stack of work to get through this afternoon.

Except Barton was tense and withdrawn throughout the drive, his fingers tapping rhythms on his knee as he stared out of the window, and Phil found himself pulling into the parking lot instead of the drop-off area when they arrived. Barton looked at him for a moment and Phil shrugged. The grateful smile Barton gave him was unexpectedly sweet.

A nurse in the ER took their details and smiled kindly as she directed them to a quiet room to wait in. The girl was already in surgery, which told Phil just how serious her injuries were. Barton paced for a while before sitting, his foot tapping nervously. Phil concentrated on sending a note from his phone to Myrna to let her know he wasn't going to be back so she wouldn't have half the town out looking for him. It wouldn't be the first time but on that occasion Richard had been late back from lunch because his car left the road and ended up in a ditch so the search team had been useful. Today a search team would just generate even more gossip.

With the note sent, Phil sat back in his uncomfortable chair and tried not to watch Barton too obviously.

"I fucking hate hospitals," Barton said eventually.

"I know that feeling," Phil said.

Barton looked at him, his eyes flickering to the cane. "Yeah, I guess you do."

After a while Barton held up his phone. "I'm going to call Nat, let her know what's going on."

"I'll be here," Phil said.

Barton was only gone for a few minutes and he returned carrying two cups of coffee. He produced little sachets of creamer and sugar from a pocket and they silently drank disgusting hospital coffee even though Phil privately thought neither of them needed the extra caffeine jitters.

"Does this happen a lot?" he asked when the silence started to get oppressive.

Barton shrugged. "Not really. First time in...shit, three years? Maybe? Amy usually doesn't make these kinds of mistakes. None of our guys do."

"What will happen to her?"

"We've got insurance to cover her medical crap," Barton said. "That's not a problem. We'll have to move on without her, but Nat will hold her place open. Make sure she's got somewhere to go when she can leave the hospital."

"Nat sounds like a good person."

Barton smiled. "She is. The best. A lot of circuses, Amy would be out right away and fuck her medical bills. Nat doesn't leave people behind."

"You've known her a long time?"

"Ten years, more or less," Barton said. "She showed up maybe a year or two after I joined. I think she was some kind of gymnast or dancer back in Russia; she doesn't like to talk about her past. She always takes care of her people. When old man Cusak decided to sell up last year, he let Nat and I buy him out at a knock-down price."

Phil stared at him for a moment. "You...own the circus?"

"Part own," Barton corrected with a shrug. "Nat's the brains behind everything, that's why it's Romanov's instead of Barton's. I just do what she tells me, talk our performers into trying her weirder ideas and make sure everything looks pretty for the public."

It shouldn't make a difference to how he saw Barton, Phil told himself, but it did. It explained why Barton was the guy waiting in the hospital, something Phil hadn't thought to question before because he hadn't let himself think about it. He'd been thinking of Barton as the guy who just showed up at each performance and shot at things, not someone who had responsibilities beyond his own performance. Phil felt a little guilty about underestimating Barton and even guiltier that this was making him even more attracted to Barton.

He should probably say something, but congratulating Barton on part owning a circus seemed inappropriate and he wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to say anyway. A knock at the door saved Phil from making any decision about that and a surgeon in blue scrubs entered. He recognised the surgeon immediately and it was obvious that Phil had been recognised as well.

"Phil?" the surgeon said, looking surprised. "I thought we'd seen the last of you."

Phil stood and shrugged awkwardly. "Hello, Doctor Martin."

Barton stood as well and glanced between Phil and the surgeon. "You guys know each other, I guess?"

Martin shrugged and Phil said, "He's the best orthopedic surgeon in the area. Amy's very lucky."

"Ah." Barton turned his attention to Martin and asked, "How is she?"

"Stable," Martin said. "Does she have family in the area?"

"No."

"There's not much I can tell you," Martin said steadily. "Patient confidentiality."

"I understand," Barton said. "Just...is she going to be OK?"

Martin nodded. "Eventually, with a lot of physical therapy."

They exchanged what details they could. Phil had been through enough surgeries of his own to read between the lines and work out the details that Doctor Martin wasn't providing. Amy's injuries were serious and she was going to have a long road ahead of her, but she would recover completely barring anything unexpected. She probably wouldn't even have much too much scarring if the plastic surgeons did their jobs well. Phil could see the relief on Barton's face and he focused on it so he could push away the uncharitable moment of envy he felt at Amy's good prognosis.

It was getting late by the time they emerged from the hospital and they didn't talk much during the drive back. Phil pulled into the area the circus used for their vehicles under Barton's guidance and debated turning off the engine before deciding that it might send out the wrong signals. Or maybe not the wrong signals, not completely, but he couldn't read Barton to know whether they were signals he should be sending out.

Sunset had turned the sky a deep red and Phil could feel exhaustion lurking, ready to overwhelm him the moment he stopped thinking. The exhaustion was probably why he was overthinking everything tonight.

Barton hesitated for a moment before he unbuckled his belt and turned slightly in his seat. "So, uh, thanks. For the drive. And the support."

"It wasn't a problem."

"No, really, thank you." Barton smiled and it was almost a shy smile, completely out of character, but it made Phil swallow. "You were just...beyond. You didn't have to do that."

Anything Phil might have been going to say in reply got stuck in his throat because Barton was _looking_ at him and moving closer. Phil couldn't tear his eyes away so he was still watching when Barton's lips brushed against his.

The kiss was brief, barely a touch, and Phil tried not to feel disappointed when Barton pulled back.

"I'm not sure if I'm reading this right," Barton said quietly.

Phil took a careful breath and said, "You are."

A slow smile appeared, the kind of smile that took Phil's breath away for a moment. He didn't know who leaned into the next kiss first, maybe they both did. It was a good kiss, though, slow and deep and exactly right. Phil's eyes closed and he let a hand drift to Clint's waist and then up, where he could feel the muscles in Clint's back flexing under the thin material of his t-shirt.

He lost track of time for a while and the sky was darkening when they finally parted, breathing hard and smiling at each other.

"I should go," Barton said and his voice was unsteady and a little deeper than normal. "Nat and I have a lot to do tonight."

"I understand."

Barton hesitated for a moment before asking, "Lunch tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," Phil said without letting himself think about whether or not it was a good idea to let this happen.

"Great." Barton smiled. "That's really...great."

There was another kiss, a hard press of lips, and then Barton was out of the car and jogging over to the collection of trailers and trucks that had to be the performers' personal area. Phil took a careful, calming breath before driving away.

***

The phone rang two minutes after Phil got home in a perfect display of the sibling connection that Phil refused to consciously acknowledge.

"Nothing's happening," Jeannie said sarcastically as soon as he hit the talk button. "I'll never see him again. We just happened to have lunch at the same time in the same diner. Uh huh."

Phil sat down on the edge of his bed with the phone tucked under his ear so he could take off his shoes. "Jeannie, I-"

"Hey, I'm not judging," Jeannie said. "Well, I'm judging you for being ridiculous in your denial levels, but I'm not judging your taste in circus guys. Until I see him. I'm going to get to see him, right?"

"Probably not," Phil said blandly.

"You're a terrible brother, you know that, right?"

"He's not going to be here long enough," Phil said as he took off his tie. "He's probably leaving on Saturday."

"Aah." He could almost feel Jeannie smirking into the phone. "And you want to keep him all to yourself because you've only got two days to have sweaty awesome sex with him. I get that."

"I'm not discussing my sex life with you," Phil said firmly.

"Hah! So there is sex!"

Phil sighed. "No."

"I'm going to assume you're lying," Jeannie said cheerfully. "Good for you, Phil. It's been too long since you did anything crazy."

"You think this is crazy?"

There was a long pause and then Jeannie said, "No, I think this is very sane actually. You've been this island of get-the-hell-away-from-me for too long. Maybe a fling with a hot circus guy is what you need."

"Thank you, I think."

***

That night Phil slept soundly despite the persistent ache in his leg. If he had the fire dreams then he didn't remember them, but he did remember dreaming about blue eyes and lips that seemed to shift from a cheerful smirk to a shy grin when he kissed them.


	5. Chapter 5

Phil brought his usual stack of journals to lunch but he didn't need them: Barton was already sitting on 'his' stool and his warm smile made something in Phil's chest catch and jump. It seemed ridiculous that a slow, soft smile could get his heart racing but Barton had a really amazing smile so Phil forgave himself. He stacked the journals on the counter as he sat and pushed them aside immediately because he had no intention of even pretending to read them today.

"Have you been here long?" he asked.

"No," Barton said. "I got a ride in with Nat. She's gone over to the hospital so she'll pick me up me on her way back."

"How's Amy doing?"

"She's awake." Barton rolled his eyes. "Bitching about the metalwork on her leg."

"It gets pretty uncomfortable," Phil said without thinking.

He could feel Barton's eyes on him the moment he finished speaking and Phil couldn't quite look at him. Some people didn't want to know anything about his injuries but most people seemed to have a morbid fascination with what had happened to his leg. Then they wanted to know why his leg had never been fixed 'properly' and whether he'd tried this clinic or that surgeon, as though he hadn't tried every treatment available years ago. Barton would ask the usual questions eventually if this thing between then went anywhere, they always did. Lunchtime in Eddie's with Mandy lurking in the kitchen definitely wasn't where Phil wanted to have that conversation, though.

Somehow Barton seemed to sense that because he nodded and didn't say any more. Mandy bustled up with menus and smiled at them.

"What can I get you both? We've got a pot of chilli on the stove but the cornbread isn't ready." She sighed. "First batch burned, that damn oven is playing tricks again."

Barton shrugged. "I wasn't in a chilli mood anyway. A burger sounds good right now."

"With fries or salad?" Mandy asked.

"Fries," Barton said, "and a bucket of coffee."

"We can do that, sweetie," Mandy said, giving him a sympathetic smile before turning to Phil. "And you? Jeannie told me to make you eat some vegetables or a salad before you die from scurvy."

There was a sound suspiciously like a muffled snicker from beside him but Barton's expression was bland when Phil glanced over.

"Are you supposed to take orders from my sister?" he asked. "I thought the customer was always right." 

"Only if the customer's sister doesn't have my number." Mandy shrugged unsympathetically. "You'll take a burger and a salad, then?"

Phil gave in and nodded. Mandy smiled triumphantly and hurried away, returning for a moment with their cups of coffee before retreating to the kitchen again.

There was a short silence and then Barton said, "Your sister cares about you. It's kind of sweet."

"My sister interferes."

"Guess you don't get to keep many secrets in a small town."

Phil carefully stirred cream into his coffee. "Not really. It must be the same in the circus."

"Pretty much." Barton gave him a sly grin. "Trailers have thin walls."

The glint in Barton's eye hinted at things Phil wasn't sure he wanted to think about in a diner where half the town could enter at any moment. He smiled at Barton anyway and allowed his smile to widen a little when Barton knocked their knees together in a gesture that could have been accidental but definitely wasn't.

Mandy returned to slide plates of food onto the counter with an unsubtle wink but she was gone immediately as the door dinged and admitted half a dozen hungry bank clerks.

"So," Barton said after he'd taken his first appreciative bite of burger, "looks like I'll be sticking around for a few days."

Phil speared a tomato with his fork and ignored the way his heart skipped a little. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Barton shrugged. "None of us have had a rest day for nine months. When we've not been performing, we've been travelling or setting up. The accident might not have happened if we weren't all exhausted. So Nat's cancelling our next stop and we'll stay here for a few days resting up. We didn't get the publicity started up there yet so it's no big deal if we skip a few dates, pick up the tour at the next location."

"Oh." Phil tried to think of something to say that wasn't too eager or too nonchalant. "Oh."

"Yeah."

They ate in silence for a while until Barton nudged his plate over so Phil could steal a few fries.

"Are you coming to see us tonight?" Barton asked.

Phil chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "Would your fire eater friend cope if I didn't?"

"Probably not. She'd be very disappointed."

"Then I guess I'll have to prevent that."

They exchanged smiles and Phil stole another fry.

***

The performance that night was as spectacular and beautiful as it ever had been. If Phil hadn't been so familiar with the performances he wouldn't have spotted that one of the artists was missing. The trapeze performers never missed a beat and nobody looked nervous or uncertain. Some people in the audience were probably aware that there had been an accident thanks to the town grape vine, but he doubted any of them noticed the minor changes to the performance.

Phil's breath caught in his throat when Barton appeared in the middle of the ring. Even knowing the man a little didn't take away any of the magic. He could see the slight changes in Barton's stance that signalled whether he was happy with a shot or not and sometimes he caught a hint of a smile, quickly suppressed. When the final arrow was released and the flames erupted on the floor of the ring Phil didn't try to see Barton leaving. He concentrated on blinking away afterimages and clapping like everyone else to keep his mind off what might or might not happen later.

They hadn't made any promises or plans but Phil was honest enough to admit that he was hoping Barton would look for him afterward. All day Phil had found his mind wandering back to the kiss in his car, remembering the taste of Barton's mouth and the small, eager sound he'd made when Phil pressed closer. He wanted to experience that again, to feel Barton's body against his, even if kissing was all that ever happened between them.

It was nearly dark when Phil got back to the field he'd parked in and he was relieved to see a dark, hooded figure leaning against the driver's side door of his car. The figure straightened up as Phil approached but didn't move away.

"I thought maybe you could take me home tonight," Barton said with just a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "If you want."

The hood's shadows hid Barton's expression but Phil could see the tension in the way he held his shoulders. He looked ready to run and the contrast with his usual cocky appearance was strangely charming.

Phil swallowed hard. "I'd like that."

Barton didn't shake his hooded sweater back until they were inside the car. His hair glittered under the cabin light and Phil caught a glimpse of bare chest where the zipper had only been pulled up part way. Phil's heart jumped and he couldn't resist leaning over for a kiss.

The smile Barton gave him when they parted was almost blinding and Phil's hands shook slightly when he turned the key in the ignition.

***

Phil locked the front door behind them and turned to lean against it. Barton was looking with interest at the photo of Jeannie and the kids on a table nearby and Phil took a moment to just watch him. It was obvious that Barton had come straight from the circus tent, maybe stopping by wherever he lived just long enough to drop off his equipment and grab the sweater he'd put on. His hair was spiky and glittery and he was still wearing the tight black pants with sequins along the seams he'd performed in. The boots he wore were probably perfect for moving around a circus ring but they'd be useless for anything else.

His fingers tapped restlessly against his leg and Phil sensed that he was still wired and buzzing from the exhilaration of performing. Barton was all coiled energy and taught muscles and Phil wondered how he usually burned that off.

"I can see the resemblance," Barton said when he looked up from his study of the photo. "The boy looks a lot like you."

Phil smiled crookedly. "Hopefully he'll grow out of it."

Barton frowned. "Why?"

"It's not really a look that gets better with time."

"I call bullshit on that." Barton snorted. "You're pretty good to look at, you know?"

"I'm n-"

"And you've got the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

Phil blinked a couple of times, rendered speechless both by Barton's words and the complete sincerity he could read in Barton's face. The surprise must have shown in his eyes because a moment later Barton was right there, crowding him back against the door, and kissing him in a way that left him in no doubt about how much Barton wanted him.

His cane clattered to the floor as he dropped it to free his hands and pull Barton closer. The soft, worn fabric of Barton's hoodie was thin enough for Phil to feel the heat of his skin through it. That wasn't enough, though, and Barton made a quiet encouraging sound when Phil slipped a hand under the hem.

Barton's skin was warm and smooth, just as Phil had imagined when he'd watched Barton parade around the circus ring. He wanted more, a lot more, but that would involve moving and letting the kiss end which was the last thing he wanted right now.

The kiss was frantic at first, as though Barton was afraid he would suddenly disappear, but then he seemed to realise that Phil wasn't going anywhere and it slowed to something controlled and deeper. Phil didn't mind, he was quite content to kiss for as long as Barton wanted to even though he could feel heat starting to build low in his belly.

Eventually Barton pulled back a little and studied Phil for a long moment. "Just so I know we're on the right page and I'm not about to make a total idiot of myself, you knew we were talking about sex when I asked if you wanted to take me home. Right?"

There was a look of mingled hope and apprehension on his face, as though there was some chance that Phil might not want that even though he thought their kiss had been made it clear that he did. Barton...no, Clint. It was impossible to kiss someone like that and not make that shift to something more intimate, more familiar.

Clint's usual cocky assurance seemed to have disappeared so Phil smiled and brushed a thumb over Clint's cheekbone. "I was hoping you were."

"Not that I want to pressure you or anything," Clint said quickly. "Just...making sure you weren't planning a game of monopoly or something because I'm really not here for that."

The look of relief on Clint's face was almost comical and Phil had to kiss the corner of his mouth just because he could.

"I have Clue if that's more your speed," Phil said, trying to keep a straight face.

Clint gave him a look of mock outrage and then kissed him again, which Phil definitely approved of as a punishment tactic.

"You're funny guy, Coulson," Clint said as when he pulled back. "Really funny."

"Phil."

"Huh?"

Phil shrugged. "If we're going to do this, you should probably call me Phil. It feels odd to have a guy's hands down my pants who's still calling me by my last name."

Clint wiggled his fingers where they were trapped just under the waistband of Phil's pants and smirked. "We can do that. Phil." 

Kissing the smirk off Clint's face had to be done and then Phil kissed along his jaw and under his ear and Clint's choked off gasp was an amazing sound. Clint eventually pulled back and rested his forehead against Phil's, breathing heavily.

"We should move this somewhere else," Clint said. "Before we can't move this. I really don't want to hurt you and I'm not sure how..."

He waved helplessly. Phil understood and for once it didn't hurt to be reminded that his bad leg might need special consideration because the look Clint was giving him didn't leave room for any self-pity. "The bedroom's upstairs. I think I remember that's where this kind of thing often happens."

"I've heard some pretty kinky things about kitchen counters, but the bedroom sounds good tonight." Clint grinned and bent to scoop up Phil's cane for him. "Lead the way."

The handle of the walking cane felt cool and smooth in Phil's hand and the familiarity of it grounded him. He started toward the stairs and concentrated on not moving as awkwardly as he sometimes did when his leg was getting tired. A hand hooking inside his belt almost made him overbalance on the second step and he glanced back to see Clint looking guilty.

"Sorry," Clint said ruefully. "I didn't think that through."

He started to pull his hand free but Phil reached back and kept his hand there. They didn't say anything but Clint smiled and nodded and followed Phil up the stairs with his hand in Phil's belt, carefully not tugging but maintaining the contact.

Phil led the way confidently to his bed and then stopped, feeling awkward for the first time. It had been a long time since he'd been in this situation and he wasn't sure how the transition from frantic kissing against his front door to something more in his bed was supposed to work.

Clint showed no hesitation. He threw himself cheerfully onto the bed and bounced a couple of times from the force of his landing. It was a sight that Phil thought he'd hold onto for a long time; Clint grinning and spreading his arms wide to feel the softness of the sheets and the comfort of the mattress. He was probably getting glitter all over everything but Phil didn't really care.

Clint sat up to pull his sweater off and throw it over the side of the bed. His boots followed and then he looked up with a cheerful smirk. Phil had turned on one lamp in the corner and the light glowed against Clint's golden skin wherever it showed through the bright sparkles he was still coated with. The smirk turned into a questioning look and Clint beckoned.

"You know, it works better if you're over here as well," Clint said as he reached out and took hold of Phil's belt again. He didn't pull but he didn't let Phil escape either. "It also helps if you're naked."

Phil moved closer until his legs hit the bed. Clint nodded his approval and shifted around so he was kneeling up, which put him at exactly the right height and angle to kiss Phil's neck while his clever fingers worked at Phil's shirt. It should have felt good and another day it probably would, but Phil tensed and his hands covered Clint's before Phil was even aware that he was going to move.

Clint sat back on his heels, his hands still caught in Phil's, and there was surprise in his eyes even though his expression was carefully neutral.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked and his voice was also carefully neutral. "I mean, we don't have to-"

"No. You didn't do anything wrong." Phil took a careful breath. "This is all me."

"Okay," Clint said slowly.

"There's some scarring," Phil said, keeping his eyes focused on the sheet just behind Clint's shoulder instead of Clint's face. "On my chest. And leg. Some people find it...distasteful."

"Oh." Clint frowned. "Huh."

"You don't have to..."

Phil trailed off as Clint deliberately broke free of his grip, slipped the first button free and then stretched up to kiss the skin he revealed. He did that with each button, slowly baring Phil's chest and kissing his way down without any hesitation. Then he slid his hands across Phil's chest to push the shirt apart before slowly, so very slowly, easing it over Phil's shoulders and down his arms. Phil's breath caught in his throat when Clint kissed the skin just above the worst scar, the one that still stood out red and ugly at the bottom of his ribcage. He couldn't feel Clint's lips when he shifted down to kiss and suck at the scar but the impact of it rocked him anyway.

Clint looked up through his eyelashes, resting his chin against Phil's ribs. "Is this okay?"

It took Phil a couple of tries before he could say, "Yes. Yes, that's definitely okay."

There was a beautiful smile on Clint's face before he pulled Phil down onto the bed on top of him. Phil's cane made a loud crash as it fell to the floor but Phil was too busy kissing Clint to care. He couldn't get enough of it, get enough of Clint, and he wondered hazily whether he was about to do something really stupid because one night might just make wanting Clint worse rather than better.

Their fingers met and tangled at Phil's belt and Clint snickered quietly before batting Phil's hands away impatiently.

When Phil finally managed to tug Clint's pants away he had to firmly stomp on a whimper at all the naked flesh he revealed.

Clint rolled his eyes and said, "VPL. Fucking nightmare with tight spangly stuff."

"I'm going to remember that the next time I'm watching you in the ring," Phil said.

"You do that," Clint said, his eyes darkening before he pulled Phil down again. "I've got one last show tomorrow night. You should watch me again."

Phil laughed a little breathlessly and almost fell into another kiss, this one hot and filthy and so very good. Skin against skin with delicious friction in all the right places was almost overwhelming. When Clint came with a low, needy groan, Phil felt a surge of pleasure and maybe a hint of pride that he'd been able to make Clint fall apart so completely. He was so close to the edge that Clint barely had to touch him and whisper his name before he followed him over.


	6. Chapter 6

Phil didn't get much sleep that night but he didn't care at all. For once the lack of sleep wasn't due to nightmares or pain, although it wasn't entirely due to sex either.

He'd half expected Clint to make his excuses and leave as soon as they'd caught their breath. It seemed to be the usual rule for a fling like this; never stay the night, never get too comfortable, never talk too much. Instead they'd napped for a while and then they'd talked. Nothing of any consequence and sometimes there had been long silences where Phil had hovered at the edge of sleep again. Clint hadn't shown any sign of wanting to leave or even wanting to lose contact now that he had his arms around Phil. They'd exchanged lazy, exhausted kisses at times and Phil couldn't remember feeling so comfortable with someone in his bed before.

***

Breakfast had to be skipped because Clint was also a sneaky, devious bastard who didn't play fair and looked particularly appealing all sleep-mussed and happy. Phil hadn't been able to resist even though he'd tried to tell himself not to, that he'd be late to work, and if they'd wanted a second round then someone should have initiated something much earlier in the morning damn it.

He still had to drive Clint across town back to the circus when they were finally dressed and ready to leave, which meant he was driving down Main Street through during what passed for rush hour in Ashdale. Then there was an extended goodbye kiss that delayed him even further and Phil couldn't leave until he'd watched Clint jog across the field to the big top where he could already see activity starting.

All of which combined to make Phil late to work for the first time in his career. Myrna gave him an odd look when he hurried in, a look that somehow combined worry with a smirk. She was very talented at conveying it all with one raised eyebrow. Phil shrugged helplessly and ignored the quiet chuckle as he limped quickly into his office and closed the door pointedly behind him.

He forgave her as soon as he saw the large cup of coffee and bag of doughnuts on his desk. The quick 'thank you' message he sent got a winky smile in return and he chose not to dignify that with any response. Instead he munched on a doughnut and settled in for a morning working on one of his least favourite accounts.

***

Jeannie knocked on Phil's door just after midday. She gave him a wide grin and rustled a large paper bag when he looked up.

"I bring gifts," she said as she put the bag down on a clear area of his desk and carefully flopped into the guest chair. "Mine's the ham and mustard on rye."

Phil pulled out two thick sandwiches and a couple of bottles of water. There was also a salad in the bag and Jeannie looked at him pointedly when he tried to pass it to her. His sandwich was something healthy with wholegrain bread and a lot of green leafy stuff. 

"I'm not going to die from scurvy," he said as he unwrapped his sandwich and peered cautiously at the contents. "Is this hummus?"

"You won't die as long as I'm feeding you, anyway," Jeannie said before taking a big bite out of her ham and rye. "Hummus is good for you."

Phil rolled his eyes and took a large gulp of water. "Did you just drop by to feed me?"

Jeannie shrugged. "Mostly."

He raised an eyebrow and Jeannie flushed.

"My phone hasn't stopped ringing all morning," Jeannie said. "Not that I plan to confirm or deny anything, but you were seen driving a certain circus performer down Main Street this morning."

Phil smiled impassively and took a large bite of salad.

"You've also got glitter in your hair and on your jacket," Jeannie continued, "and is that a hickey?"

Something stuck in his throat and Phil choked for a moment while Jeannie smirked at him triumphantly.

"You're evil," Phil said when he could finally talk again.

"I'm your sister," Jeannie said placidly. "It's my job to enjoy your embarrassment when you leave the house looking like...ah...looking...you should probably find a mirror at some stage."

From the expression in Jeannie's eyes, Phil concluded that she was trying to tell him that he looked exactly as well fucked as he felt but she was too polite to say it. He was torn between intense embarrassment and a tiny bit of pride because he was fairly sure that whatever the gossip said he'd done with Clint would be nowhere near the truth of how good the night had been. Not that he was going to tell Jeannie that.

There were some things he didn't talk about with his sister and this was definitely one of them.

"You know, it's not actually illegal to have fun sometimes," Jeannie said after a short silence. "I worry about you, Phil. Not just because your diet is terrible. It's like...when you came home from the military and relearned how to walk, you forgot how to be a person. I miss the Phil who did crazy, ridiculous things just because they were crazy and ridiculous. You used to drive across the state for concerts and buy me stupid hats from weird places just to cheer me up."

Jeannie's expression was unusually serious. Phil was used to her cheerful smirk and bright, laughing eyes, not this frowning worry that looked almost foreign on her. Even when she was exhausted from the pregnancy and keeping up with the kids, she never looked like this. It made him flush guiltily and wonder how often she'd hidden her concern from him over the years.

"Phil, what happened to the guy who got caught fucking the school football captain under the bleachers?" Jeannie asked. "Did you lose him when you were out in one of those places you can't talk about?"

He blinked innocently. "Nothing happened that night."

"You had his tongue down his throat and your hands in his pants," Jeannie said.

"It was November. My hands were cold."

"I didn't believe that then and I don't believe that now," Jeannie said, waving her sandwich pointedly. "And quit trying to change the subject."

Phil couldn't quite meet her eyes because she was right, he was evading again. It had almost become second nature to pretend nothing was wrong and he was just fine. Jeannie had let him get away with it for years. Probably too many years.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't you dare start feeling guilty, Philip Coulson. I'm not here for that, you shouldn't feel guilty. I'm here because you're my brother and this is the closest I've seen you get to being properly alive in years. I just want you to rediscover having fun, like you used to when we were kids." There was a pause before she grinned. "And maybe let me in on some of the juicy details. Not all of them because I do not need to think about my big brother having sex any more than I absolutely have to, ew, no thank you. Just...are you having fun? Are you happy right now?"

He had to think about the question. Was this thing with Clint making him happy? He'd felt more alive over the last few days than he had for years. There was a sense of quiet anticipation at the thought of seeing Clint again and his lips curved into a smile when he his mind drifted to a memory of Clint laughing as he tried to draw Phil back to bed.

"I think I am," Phil said.

Jeannie smiled. "Good. So, I guess my next question is: why are you here when he's leaving tomorrow?"

"He's not leaving tomorrow."

"Really?" Jeannie's smile widened. "Tell me."

"There's not much to tell. His circus decided to take a short break due to the accident so they're staying here until Tuesday taking a well-earned rest."

"And you're sitting in your office because...?"

Phil shrugged. "He's got work to do and so have I."

"Ri-ight," Jeannie drawled. "Very important work. Stuff that couldn't possibly wait until next week."

"He's performing tonight," Phil said. "It's their last night."

"And you're going to be there so you can steal him away the moment he finishes and do things to him that I definitely don't want to know about all weekend." Jeannie smirked and it was reassuring to see that expression again instead of the serious, worried look. "Am I ever going to meet him?"

"Probably not," Phil said blandly.

Jeannie made a rude gesture. "I can't believe my kids have seen your hot circus guy and I haven't. Take pity on the pregnant lady."

"No."

"Bastard."

***

There was an envelope taped to the back of Phil's 'usual' seat when he arrived in the circus tent. The note inside was brief but he read it and smiled before tucking it into a pocket.

He'd expected that at some stage the performance would lose its magic and become just a thing to be watched and analysed. After all, he knew each act now and he'd learned a little about the tricks they used to create the illusions from Clint. But when the single spotlight revealed Nat in her ringmaster outfit, Phil still felt that thrill and he clapped as loudly as anyone else in the audience for each performer.

If he clapped a little louder for Clint, that was nothing that anyone else might spot.

The sun had set by the time everyone streamed from the tent. There had been encores and ovations because it was the last night and nobody had wanted it to end, not even the circus folk from their wide grins. Phil walked slowly to his car, wary of the uneven ground in the dark, and he felt a momentary pang of disappointment that there was no shadowed figure leaning against it. He switched on the cabin light as soon as he got in the vehicle and settled to wait.

Most of the other cars had left by the time Clint slid into the passenger seat. He put a small bag in the foot well between his feet and smiled at Phil. The scent of shampoo and lotion filled the car. Clint's hair was damp when Phil reached out to curl a hand round his neck and pull him in for a kiss.

"You got my note," Clint said when they parted.

Phil smiled at him. "I got your note."

"I forgot to ask whether you were coming tonight or not," Clint said, "so I assumed."

There was a beat and then Clint seemed to parse what he'd said and his eyes lit up with wicked laughter.

"I meant that in every way it can be read," Clint said.

He leered and waggled his eyebrows and Phil couldn't help chuckling even though he felt like he should disapprove of such a blatantly over the top line.

"Do you use such terrible pick-up lines on everyone you meet?" Phil asked.

Clint shrugged and settled back in his seat, reaching back for the seat belt. "No. You're the only one."

"I can't decide whether that's a good thing or not," Phil said as he put the car in gear. "I'm not sure that I feel flattered if your lines are usually better than this."

He could see Clint out of the corner of his eye as he carefully guided the car out of the field and onto the road. Clint turned his head and looked out of the window, hiding his expression, but Phil could see tension in the way he held his neck and shoulders despite the loose hoodie he wore.

Clint was quiet for a while before saying quietly, "You're the only guy I've wanted to use pick-up lines on for a long time."

Phil swallowed against a suddenly tightness in his throat and put all his concentration into driving.

***

The sun was already well up when Phil woke the next morning. He reached out and the bed was empty, but the sheets were still warm so Clint hadn't been gone long. The muffled sound of someone humming and the rattle of china from downstairs told him where Clint was and Phil smiled. It had been years since he'd last had a lover who stayed the night.

It had been years since he'd wanted someone to stay the night.

There were pillows scattered on the floor and the sheets were a tangled mess. Phil debated going downstairs to help Clint with whatever he was attempting to do in the kitchen but he had a suspicion that wasn't part of Clint's plan. Instead he straightened up the bed, gathered the pillows and stacked them against the headboard, and was just settling back when he heard footsteps on the stair. A moment later Clint entered the room carrying two mugs of coffee and Phil couldn't suppress his appreciative smile.

The smile wasn't just for the coffee. Clint Barton dressed in boxer briefs and nothing else was a sight Phil was fairly sure he wouldn't get tired of any time soon. As beautiful as he was in his circus gear, Phil thought he actually preferred this version of Clint: golden skin and cheerful smile with his hair sticking up wildly because it had still been damp when they fell into bed.

Now was not the time to feel sad that he was only going to get to enjoy this for a few short days.

Clint handed both mugs to Phil and stole a kiss at the same time before sliding into the bed and propping himself against the headboard, pressing their arms, hips and legs together. He reclaimed his coffee and took a deep gulp.

"That kitchen is amazing," Clint said. "Fucking amazing. Seriously, how do you not cook when you've got a setup like that?"

Phil shrugged and tried his coffee, surprised at how good it was when he knew it was made from the same beans in the same machine that usually produced a barely drinkable black sludge for him.

"I never seem to have the time to learn," he said.

Clint snorted. "Bad excuse, man. We're going shopping later. You've got a jug of milk, a lemon and three boxes of mouldy fried rice in your refrigerator. Even I can't turn that into a decent meal and I'm not missing out on the chance to cook with a kitchen like that."

"You were serious about that?" Phil asked.

"Yeah." Clint ducked his head and pretended deep interest in his coffee. "If you want to. Kind of hoped I could stay the weekend, maybe. I mean, I can go back now if you want but...I figured, I'm not here for long, we leave on Tuesday, and I like you a lot so I don't want to waste the time we've got. If you don't feel the same way-"

"No, I do," Phil said quickly. "I feel the same way and I'd be very happy if you stayed."

It was awkward with their positions and the coffee, but Phil managed to turn and press a kiss to Clint's jaw. "I'll take all the time I can get."

The expression on Clint's face was a mix of happiness and relief that made Phil's breath catch. They drank coffee in silence for a while and then Clint took Phil's mug, put it on the floor with his, and pulled him into a deep, breathless kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

Grocery shopping didn't happen until late morning. Phil usually hated getting such a late start on the day because it always felt like time was being wasted.

Except usually his Saturday morning would have been spent at the kitchen table with his laptop trying to catch up on all the things he hadn't had time to do during the week. Cheque book balancing, catching up on correspondence, maybe some client files that he'd been meaning to look at but hadn't got round to.

Spending the morning in bed with Clint might not have been productive but it had definitely been a lot more fun than trying to make sense of the Craig Dairy Co-operative files.

Phil spotted three people he knew well enough to nod to as they entered Ashdale's small grocery store and he could already predict the gossip that would be circulating the moment any of them got to a phone. By Monday someone would probably be willing to swear that they'd been seen making out in the baking aisle. 

Clint seemed oblivious to the attention they were getting as he steered the cart over to the loose vegetables. Phil followed and allowed himself a small smile. He admired the way Clint's jeans clung to his ass and legs in all the right places and how his shoulders shifted under his black t-shirt as he reached into the box of mushrooms. There was a lot more to Clint Barton than a nice ass and a handsome face, but it definitely didn't hurt that he came in such an attractive package.

It was only when Clint was debating between two different brands of pasta that he showed he wasn't as unaware of the stir they were causing as Phil had assumed.

"Is it my imagination or are we being stared at?" he asked.

Phil shrugged. "It's not your imagination. Ashdale is a small town. We're being scandalous."

"Us shopping together is that bad?" Clint asked, both eyebrows rising.

"On a Saturday morning when we've clearly spent the night together? Yes."

"Shit. What would they do if I kissed you right now?"

Phil shrugged. "It would probably make the second page of the Ashdale Bugle."

"So I probably shouldn't do that, right?"

"I'd appreciate it." Phil smiled wryly. "Some of my clients are a little conservative. There's a difference between _knowing_ about me and knowing that I make out with guys in grocery stores."

"Got it," Clint said easily. "Keep my hands to myself and no blowing you in the canned goods."

Clint smirked and wandered further down the aisle, leaving Phil to choke and blush for a minute before hurrying after him.

As he followed Clint around the store, occasionally nodding when Clint held up packages and hoping he'd made the right choice, Phil tried to work out when he'd last gone grocery shopping with someone. It had probably been back when Jeannie had been pregnant with Jake and her car had broken down just after Derek left town for a conference. Before that, Phil couldn't remember having a partner who actually wanted to do something this ordinary and domestic. Most of his relationships had been short and kept strictly behind closed doors.

"Is it the circus guy thing or just the guy thing that's got everyone staring at us?" Clint asked as he steered the cart into the dairy aisle. 

"Mostly the circus thing, probably," Phil said. "Although I think Mrs Larrington is just appreciating your assets."

The tips of Clint's ears went red, which Phil found unexpectedly charming and suitable revenge for the canned goods comment.

"She could be admiring yours." Clint added milk and a dozen eggs to the growing pile of food in the cart. "I've been admiring them all week."

Phil felt his face heat again. It was becoming a bad habit around Clint. "She's definitely never looked at me like that."

"Obliviously blind as a bat then," Clint said and he started to push the cart to the checkout.

Phil gaped at him for a moment because even in his more confident moments he didn't think he was the kind of person who had assets to admire. His hair was thinning, his face was bland and he'd always been left with the impression that most people put up with his body because they liked his mind.

Clint was loading their purchases on the conveyer when Phil caught up with him. The cashier gave him a friendly nod and Phil sighed inside because she was one of the kids that Jeannie had babysat for years ago. She asked after Jeannie as she scanned and bagged the groceries and Phil answered pleasantly, promising to let Jeannie know that they'd talked.

Her wide-eyed look when Phil insisted on paying because Clint was the one who would be doing the cooking later was almost comical and Phil had a feeling this was going to be added to the gossip before the day was done.

The odd thing was how little he really minded the speculation.

***

Quietly making out and cuddling on the sofa was another thing high on the list of things Phil hadn't done with other lovers and he was surprised to find that he liked it. A lot.

He was even more surprised to find that Clint was the one who insisted on lazing around, kissing like teenagers, without even trying to get a hand into Phil's pants. The sofa was surprisingly comfortable to lie on, particularly with Clint half sprawled half on top of him, and Phil wondered why he'd never spent much time here before.

Possibly it was because he'd never had a good reason to just lie around on the sofa. There had always been things that needed to be done and his kitchen table was a much more efficient workspace than his couch or even his dining room table. It was within easy reach of the coffee pot, for a start, and Phil had always found it easier to concentrate with a cup of coffee at his elbow.

Clint leaned in for another slow kiss and Phil complied, enjoying the taste and feel of Clint's mouth and the way his breath sometimes hitched even though their hands were staying tamely above waist level.

"So," Clint said when they parted, "I was right, wasn't I?"

"Right about what?"

"Your secret ninja past." Clint gestured around the room. "I'm guessing the throwing knives aren't just decorative."

Phil smiled ruefully. He'd never liked boasting about what he'd done before he settled down, but Jeannie had insisted that he put up a couple of his old photos and display his medals properly and he'd never been able to resist her when she got her determined look. It had also been Jeannie who had set up the display case for his knives and at first it had hurt to see them there, but now he liked the reminder that he hadn't always been a half-crippled accountant.

"They're just decorative now," Phil said.

"Why?"

Phil sighed. "I haven't used them for a long time."

Clint narrowed his eyes. "Since you hurt your leg?"

It was the first time either of them had acknowledged out loud that there was anything wrong with his leg. There had been that brief moment where they'd touched on the scarring but that was all. Phil waited for the sick feeling he usually got when he tried to talk about it but nothing happened. Instead he just felt a quiet sense of rightness, as though this was finally the time, and the curious expression in Clint's eyes somehow got him talking before he realised he wanted to.

"I was a Ranger," he said, haltingly at first before the words started to flow more easily. "It was all I ever wanted to do. We were in a place...well, a place our government isn't going to admit we were ever in doing something I can't talk about when there was an explosion. Half my unit got out alive. The rest didn't."

Clint didn't say anything, he just nodded encouragingly and rubbed circles on Phil's arm that were surprisingly soothing.

"I was...trapped. For a long time. I lost part of a lung, my spleen, some skin." Phil took a careful breath. "They saved my leg but they couldn't fix it. What you see is the best they could do."

"I've seen worse," Clint said quietly. "I've been with one circus or another since I was a kid. Accidents happen."

He deliberately shifted so he could run a hand down Phil's thigh and then up again, slowly, to rest just over one of the worst scars. His expression didn't show pity or revulsion, any more than it had their first night together. Their eyes met and Phil couldn’t look away for a long moment, fixed by the combination of honesty and something much deeper he could read in the depths. It almost became uncomfortable until Clint broke the gaze and leaned down for a hard, dry kiss.

Phil smiled at him when he pulled away. "Most people say they don't mind my scars, but they can't stand touching them."

Clint shrugged. "I'm not most people."

"I've noticed."

"I hoped you had." Clint grinned and the intense mood broke, replaced with something lighter and happier. "Go on, how did badass Army Ranger Coulson become an accountant in the town where everyone knows your name, shoe size, and preferred brand of lube?"

Phil stared at him and the tips of Clint's ears went red again.

"I had a very embarrassing conversation in a pharmacy a couple of days ago," Clint said with a grimace.

"Before or after we kissed?"

"Definitely after," Clint said firmly. "I'm not that tacky."

Phil snorted and said nothing even though Clint poked him in the ribs rather ungently.

"So, what happened next? You can't start a story and not following through," Clint said.

"Not much." Phil shrugged. "I was given a medical discharge and retrained. My dad offered to let me have his half of the partnership when he retired so picking accountancy was the logical choice."

"You didn't get any other offers?" Clint asked sceptically.

"An old friend did make me an offer," Phil said and he couldn't help smiling at the memory. "It was a tempting offer and he promised we'd figure out a way for me to do it, but I'm not cut out for field work anymore and staying behind a desk was never going work. It was the kind of job that needed two working legs and a full set of lungs."

"Let me guess, one of the three letter agencies?"

"An agency. More than three letters, though. You wouldn't have heard of it."

"I can picture it," Clint said thoughtfully. "You in one of your suits, all buttoned up and professional, taking people out with a paperclip and a sarcastic remark."

"Does the real me disappoint you by comparison?"

"Fuck no," Clint said. "Never."

The kiss he gave Phil was deep and filthy and it convinced Phil more than words could have.

***

"Jesus, Phil, you've still got the labels on your saucepans," Clint said much later, sounding torn between offended and amused.

Phil back leaned against a kitchen counter and folded his arms. "You knew I didn't cook."

The look Clint gave him was deeply unimpressed. "I didn't think you meant that literally. Most people have heated soup or fried up bacon or something."

"I'm very good with the microwave."

"Your sister's right," Clint said with a deep sigh. "You're going to die from scurvy one day."

"Have you read the nutritional information on those frozen meals lately?" Phil asked. "I'm not going to die from scurvy. Sodium poisoning, maybe, but not scurvy."

"Hmm." Clint shrugged and began carefully peeling off labels and washing pans. "I assume you can identify onions and mushrooms, at least?"

"They're the thin green things?" Phil asked dryly.

"Playing the smart ass is my job," Clint said. "It doesn't suit you. I think we can both agree that I'm the one with the ass in this relationship."

He seemed to freeze for a moment before going back to calmly washing and drying a frying pan. The hint of pink spreading across the back of his neck indicated that he wasn't completely at ease but he didn't say anything else and Phil decided that it was best for both of them if he did the same. This wasn't a relationship, it was a fling at best and there was no sense in pretending that it wasn't.

Phil opened the fridge and grabbed the bags of vegetables Clint had requested. He nudged the door shut with his elbow and carried them over to a counter that wasn't littered with bowls and pots.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"Chop them," was Clint's helpful reply.

Phil frowned. "How many of them? And what size?"

There was an exasperated huff and then Clint moved to stand behind Phil so he could peer over Phil's shoulder.

"All the mushrooms," Clint said after a moment of consideration. "One of the onions. Fine but not too fine."

Clint pressed closer to grab a knife from the block at the back of the counter and set it down beside the onions. Invading Phil's personal space seemed to be second nature to Clint now that he'd been given permission once and Phil didn't mind at all. He'd always felt slightly uncomfortable getting this handsy with other partners but Clint seemed to be an exception to a lot of the usual rules.

"Think you can handle this?" Clint asked softly.

Phil closed his eyes for a moment as Clint's lips brushed his ear and sent shivers down his spine.

"I think I've got it," he said in the calmest voice he could manage.

Clint pressed a kiss just under his ear and then he was gone, back to sorting through pans and bowls and digging through cupboards to see what kind of serving dishes Phil owned. Every now and again he made surprised or impressed noises as he found things and Phil sent up a silent thank you to Jeannie, who had ordered it all for him when he first got out of hospital and she'd still been hopeful that he might finally learn to cook now the army wasn't feeding him.

Phil had managed to peel and chop the onion and was contemplating whether mushrooms needed to be washed when Clint made a sound that was suspiciously like muffled laughter. He looked over to see Clint holding up a set of commemorative glasses that he'd almost forgotten he owned.

Clint grinned. "I saw the little shrine in your living room. Am I sharing you with Captain America?"

"I used to collect that stuff." Phil shrugged, hoping his face wasn't as pink as it felt. He decided that he'd definitely have to wash the mushrooms because even he could work out that dirt shouldn't go in food. "I admired what he stood for. Truth and justice."

"You don't collect anymore?"

Phil shrugged and loaded the mushrooms into a bowl so he could carry them over to the sink. "Not for a while."

"You heard they found him, right?" Clint asked, putting the glasses away carefully. "Somewhere up in the Arctic. He was all over the news after that big mess in New York."

"It was hard to miss." He could feel Clint's eyes on him as he carefully brushed the mushrooms clean. "Collecting things seemed...less important after I came home."

"Huh." Clint was silent for a while and Phil limped back to his counter and began chopping. "You know, there's a lot of new stuff around. I've even seen plushie Iron Mans around, although I'm not sure why parents would want their kids cuddling someone like Tony Stark at night. You should start collecting again, there's got to be some cool stuff you'd want."

Phil shrugged and kept his eyes on the chopping board. "I'll think about it."

They worked in silence for a while before Phil said, "Cuddly Iron Men?"

"I've seen plushie Thors around as well." Clint gave Phil a wicked look. "I could get you a cuddly Captain America, pretty sure I saw a batch arrive for the game booths on Monday."

"No."

"Sure?"

"Very."

Clint laughed and moved over to examine the results of Phil's chopping. "Wow."

Phil frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I've never seen anyone cut stuff so..." Clint prodded at the pile of chopped onion. "...so, uh, uniformly. Did you measure them all or something?"

"Is it a problem?"

"No." Clint snagged a piece of mushroom and ate it. "Not a problem. Pretty fucking awesome, actually. Is there anything you don't do perfectly?"

"Many things," Phil said. "You haven't asked me to cook these yet."

"Fair point." Clint stole another piece of mushroom. "How are you with salads?"

"Eating them or making them?"

The salad wasn't going to be needed for a while so Clint shooed Phil to sit at the kitchen table while he did complicated things with ground meat, tomatoes, herbs and Phil's vegetables. He entrusted Phil with grating cheese while the meat sauce simmered. The cheese went into a white sauce and somehow it all turned into a lasagne with Phil none the wiser about the process beyond a vague understanding that correct layering was important. Clint moved around the kitchen with the same grace he performed with and Phil, as always, couldn't take his eyes off him even though his low-slung jeans and too-tight t-shirt looked ordinary in comparison to the glitter and mask.

More ingredients were pulled out of the fridge and Clint began whisking cream and melting chocolate with an expression of complete concentration. Phil wasn't sure what he was making now but the rich scent of chocolate made his mouth water. Eventually Clint seemed happy with his chocolate creation and he dipped a spoon in and carried it over to Phil.

"Taste?" he offered.

Phil nodded and put a hand over Clint's to guide the spoon to his mouth, unable to prevent a soft groan because whatever it was that Clint had made tasted amazing. Clint's eyes darkened and he leaned down for a kiss, his tongue sweeping into Phil's mouth and Phil didn't know whether it was the food or Clint's kiss that made him groan again. Clint hummed as he pulled back.

"Tastes pretty good," Clint said with a smug grin. "So does the mousse."

"Your lines just get worse, don't they?" Phil noted.

"I don't use them often." Clint turned away and began clearing up the mess he'd made so Phil couldn't see his face. "They get kind of rusty."

His shoulders were relaxed as he put bowls in the fridge and filled the sink with soapy water, but Phil had a feeling that it was an act and he wondered what Clint was trying not to say.

***

That night Phil woke up from the usual nightmare with someone shaking his shoulder and calling his name. He fought the tangled sheets for a moment, trying to swallow the panic when nothing moved properly, and then a voice quietly said his name again.

The panic drained away and Phil fell back against the mattress. Clint leaned over him, the pale moonlight creating shadows and lines that weren't usually there. He looked concerned, worried, and Phil tried to smile reassuringly. It probably came out somewhere closer to a grimace judging by the furrow between Clint's eyebrows. 

Clint's hand was warm and soothing where it carefully cupped Phil's jaw and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss just beside Phil's mouth.

"Do you dream like that a lot?" Clint asked quietly.

Phil swallowed. His throat was dry. "A couple of times a week. Sometimes less."

"Sometimes more?"

Phil nodded and very carefully didn't meet Clint's eyes.

Clint was quiet for a while and then he moved, pulling and tugging until he'd managed to arrange Phil half draped over him with their heads sharing a pillow. He kept an arm on Phil's shoulder, not really holding him in place but just _there_ and reassuring. The usual post-nightmare shivers started to ease and the warmth that spread through Phil wasn't the dream-fever he was used to. It wasn't the intense heat and need of lust, either, it was more comforting and soothing than that.

"Think you can sleep again?" Clint asked. "Or we could talk, if that would help."

Their faces were so close on the pillow that Phil could see each eyelash and the lines crinkling at the corner of Clint's eyes. He looked tired but somehow Phil knew that Clint would stay awake if he asked.

"I think I can sleep," Phil said.

Clint's arm tightened around him for a moment and then his eyes drifted shut. Phil half expected to stay awake for a while, he usually did after the fire dreams, but he fell into a dreamless sleep almost immediately.

***

Phil woke up first on Sunday and he spent a while just watching Clint, memorising the way the sun played across his face and the hint of a smile on his lips. It seemed odd to think that a week ago Phil had barely known the man and now he knew Clint's laugh and how he took his coffee and the sounds Clint made when he came.

Clint's opened his eyes and turned to Phil, a smile creasing his face. "You're watching me. I could feel it in my sleep."

"You're imagining it," Phil said.

"No I'm not." Clint rolled to face Phil, pillowing his head on his arm. "It's one of those things, I always know when people are watching me. You can't take your eyes off me."

"I can." Phil turned onto his back and looked up at the ceiling to prove it. "You're not that fascinating."

"Bullshit, I'm beautiful and you know it."

There was definitely an obnoxious note in Clint's voice and Phil told himself not to smile but his face disobeyed him.

Clint chuckled. "You're pretty watchable yourself, you know."

"I'm not."

"Sure you are."

"You're deluded."

"I'm completely sane." The bedclothes rustled as Clint shifted and Phil startled when he felt a warm, calloused fingertip trace a line down his chest. "You seem to think you're not attractive. That you're boring or...or, shit, I don't know. Trust me, I can't take my eyes off you." His voice became quieter, just above a whisper. "Your eyes, your hands, your...I'm not sure a weekend is going to be enough for all of it. And don't say some crap about your leg or the scars, I see them. They're part of you and I lo-uh, like those just as much as the rest of you. And as you're also smart and funny and fucking amazing at everything except cooking, I'm feeling pretty lucky right now."

Phil cleared his throat, searching for words that wouldn't appear because he wasn't used to people saying things like this to him.

Clint coughed uncomfortably. "And I just wrecked it all, didn't I? Nat always tells me that I get too attached too quickly and-"

"You didn't wreck anything," Phil said, turning his head. There was red in Clint's face and he looked ready to bolt. "Trust me, you didn't. You just surprised me."

"How about we pretend I didn't get stupidly mushy and move on?" Clint suggested. "Go back to having a lot of really great sex and hanging out and-"

Phil stretched up to kiss him, sensing that Clint would probably keep babbling for a while if he was allowed to. The kiss started out slow and careful but then Clint seemed to fall into him with a long sigh and Phil wrapped his arms around Clint and held on tight.


	8. Chapter 8

One of the reasons Phil had bought his house was the huge deck in his back yard. It dominated the area, leaving only enough space for a shed and a long strip of grass that one of the kids down the street mowed during the summer. He'd bought the house for the deck and then he'd barely used it, despite promising himself every summer that he'd spend the evenings out there.

He always seemed to have other things that needed to be done leaving no time for just sitting outside and enjoying the sun. Leaving no time to think.

So the chairs and table he'd bought had never left the shed and he'd thrown out the barbecue last summer because it was too badly rusted to function safely and he never used it anyway.

Clint gave him a deeply unimpressed look when he confessed all that over breakfast and ordered Phil to find some clothes suitable for lounging in while he got the deck set up. It took Phil a while to find the old, paint-spattered jeans he used on the rare occasions he did any DIY around the house. Finding a t-shirt proved impossible but Phil found an old shirt at the back of his closet that had grown too frayed and thin to be appropriate anywhere outside the house. By the time he'd changed and dug out a novel Jeannie had given him two Christmases ago, because Clint had decreed that lounging on a deck couldn't be combined with work, the deck looked almost unrecognisable.

The table and chairs had been cleaned and set up, cushions had been found from somewhere to pad the seats, and Clint had spread out a blanket and some more cushions beside them. Phil dropped his book on the table and looked around for a minute before spotting Clint by the shed.

He was shirtless and his jeans were, yet again, hanging much too low on his hips to be really decent. Phil's mouth went dry at the sight and he had to remind himself that his yard wasn't really private enough to walk over and kiss Clint senseless.

Clint must have heard him because he looked up and, for some reason, there was a hint of guilt in his face. The guilt melted away immediately, replaced with a wide grin with just a hint of a leer.

"In case you're wondering," Clint said, "that look is exactly what I was talking about."

Phil prayed he wasn't as pink as he felt and tried to shrug casually. "It's just some old painting clothes. What are you up to?"

The hint of guilt returned and Clint stepped back from the shed. "OK, don't kill me but...I wanted you to try something."

"Oh?"

Clint gestured to the side of the shed. "I set up a target. Figured, maybe, it's time for you to get your knives out again. We can work out a way around the balance problems; there are plenty of people out there who do this kind of shit with bigger disabilities than you have."

For just one, brief moment Phil was angry. More angry than he'd been for a long time and he didn't know whether it was at Clint or himself. As quickly as it came, though, the feeling burned away and Phil was left standing on the deck gripping his cane so tightly his knuckles hurt. Clint was trying to help and maybe he was right, maybe it was time for Phil to try. He'd put the knives in their display cabinet without trying because, at the time, he'd been afraid of what trying and failing would do to his fragile recovery.

Failing didn't seem like as much of a disaster as it had years ago.

The strip of grass by the shed was only twenty feet long, at most, and the crude target Clint had put together and nailed up was just a large circle. Phil's targets back in the day had been much smaller and the distances much longer. 

"Or we can pretend I didn't do this," Clint said awkwardly. "I mean, it's your choice and-"

"Let's try it," Phil said, making his decision.

***

The first throw was a disaster. Phil instinctively stepped onto his bad leg, the leg buckled and the knife ended up bouncing on the grass. He was only saved from sprawling face-first onto the ground by Clint grabbing him around the waist and holding him up. It was embarrassing but instead of feeling humiliated, Phil felt his old determination set in.

This wouldn't defeat him. There would be a way to do this.

The way turned out to be half propping himself on a stool, helped by Clint, so that his centre of gravity could be in the right place without his weight forcing his leg to collapse again. The next throw felt incredibly awkward but the knife caught at the edge of the target.

Clint shouted "Yes!" and hopped around the grass for a minute in celebration. Phil just smiled quietly and settled himself into position again.

His third throw still felt awkward but it landed more solidly and Phil nodded to himself.

He could do this after all.

***

Phil's upper body was aching by the time Clint called it a day and ordered Phil up to the deck to rest. He felt that he should probably protest at being given orders but Clint's wide grin scattered all his half-formed objections. They made sure the knives were put away securely and then Clint threw himself down on the blankets and cushions he'd spread out on the deck, claiming that it was an important part of his duty to the circus to lie in the sun as much as possible. 

After all, he couldn't look pasty and ill under the circus lights.

Phil figured it was really just an excuse to lounge around shirtless all afternoon and scandalise the neighbours. Not that Phil was going to object to Clint finding excuses to lie around in only a pair of jeans because it was a crime to hide all that golden skin and perfect musculature.

Joining Clint on the blanket was appealing on many levels, but Phil glanced up at where his next door neighbour's windows overlooked the deck and he sat in a chair with his feet propped on another instead. He opened his novel, fully intending to read, and for a while he managed to skim through a few pages. However the sun was that perfect level of warm enough to induce sleep without being so hot it was uncomfortable and Phil could feel his eyelids getting heavier. He was on the verge of slipping into a doze when Clint spoke.

"Is it true you accidentally outed the captain of your school football team?" he asked sleepily.

Phil sighed and lowered his book. "It always sounds so much worse than it was."

"Oh?"

"I was young and not very good at being discreet, like most teenagers. We didn't expect the coach to call an extra session that day, otherwise we'd have been in his car."

"It's a good story, though."

"I suppose it is." Phil shrugged. "It didn't feel like it at the time. Mostly it just felt embarrassing."

"Seems like everyone here is really proud of you despite being a really indiscreet teenager. I got to hear all about it at the pharmacy."

"Ashdale's second major industry, after farming, is gossip."

"Really salacious gossip, apparently." Clint settled back on the blanket and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Wanna get indiscreet with me for a while?"

It was a tempting thought but the muffled sound of the doorbell ringing interrupted before Phil could decide whether he wanted to scandalise the neighbours after all. He shrugged apologetically, grabbed his cane and went to answer the door.

Jeannie was standing on the front deck and she raised her eyebrows when she saw him. "Where is my brother and what have you done with him?"

Phil looked down at his clothes and shrugged. Somehow his shirt had become a lot less buttoned up than it had been earlier and he suspected it was all Clint's fault even though he couldn't quite remember when Clint had done that. His face heated when Jeannie gave him a thumbs up and he rolled his eyes at her. 

"Invite the pregnant lady in, Phil," Jeannie prompted.

Phil stepped back and followed her into the living room, where she sank into a chair looking hot and uncomfortable.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

Jeannie flapped her hand. "Everything except the part where Marianne just flew to Seattle for a month because her mom is ill and everyone else who might be able to look after Abby and Jake while I'm having this baby is going on vacation. Phil, I'm desperate. Say you'll take them."

"When?"

The look he received easily matched Clint's most unimpressed ones. "Fuck if I know. I'm not due for another three weeks, like that means anything at this point. You'll only have them for a day, two max. School finished on Friday so you won't even have to worry about figuring that out. You three can hang out for a while and I'll pretend you aren't going to let them stay up past their bedtime."

"I'd love to look after them," Phil said quickly. He suspected Jeannie would keep talking until he gave in otherwise. "Just call when you need me."

"You are a wonderful brother."

"You said I was a horrible brother a couple of days ago." Phil chuckled when she poked her tongue out. "You could have just called, though. You didn't need to drive over."

"I was passing." Jeannie grinned. "And I was hoping to get a peek at your hot circus guy."

Phil flushed.

"Hah!" Jeannie crowed. "Busted! He's here, isn't he?"

"Isn't there a rule about not introducing summer flings to family?" he asked plaintively.

"Only if your fling hasn't been seen by every member of your family except your sister," Jeannie said firmly. "Then there's an exception. Particularly if your sister is very pregnant and her husband's afraid to touch her in case she pops or something."

"You're not going to leave until you've met him, are you?" Phil sighed. "Fine, wait here."

"Not really going anywhere without a crane right now."

"I'm amazed you can still reach the steering wheel."

Jeannie made a rude gesture and Phil rolled his eyes.

Clint was still basking in the sun when Phil stepped onto the deck. He sat up when he saw Phil's expression.

"Is everything OK?"

Phil snorted. "My sister wants to meet you."

"Do you want your sister to meet me?" Clint asked, looking unusually serious.

"I'm not sure that we have a choice. She's feeling left out because everyone's seen you except her."

"Yeah but...this is your sister."

"Do you want to meet her?"

Clint looked thoughtful for a moment and then his face cleared and the slightly shy smile that kept surprising Phil appeared. "Yeah, I do."

"Then you should probably put a shirt on."

Clint's t-shirt didn't leave much to the imagination and Jeannie's eyes lit up when he followed Phil into the living room. Phil was torn between feeling proud that Clint was his, for now at least, and defensive because he wasn't sure he liked someone else looking at Clint with hungry eyes even if that someone else was his very pregnant sister.

There was a moment where Clint looked like he wanted to bolt, then he smiled politely, held out his hand and said hello.

Jeannie grinned at him and used the proffered hand to pull him down and kiss him lightly on the cheek. The tips of Clint's ears went red and didn't seem to know whether to return the greeting or hide behind Phil. He settled for stepping back quickly and standing so close he almost made Phil overbalance.

"I know I'm probably breaking protocol," Jeannie said, "but I had to meet the man who got my brother into a pair of jeans."

Phil smacked Clint's ankle with his cane before he could make any comments about getting Phil _out_ of his jeans and Clint closed his mouth so quickly his teeth clicked together.

Jeannie narrowed her eyes and snorted. "Subtle."

"It's nice to meet you," Clint said blandly. "Phil's told me a lot about you."

"He's nice." She gave Phil a wide grin. "If only I was less married and he was a bit straighter..."

"What were you saying about subtle?" Phil asked.

"I've never been subtle," Jeannie said cheerfully. "So, Clint, what has Phil told you about me?"

Clint shot Phil a panicked look. "Uh, good things? I know you're trying to get him to eat better."

"I'm trying to get him to eat food that didn't come out of a box or a takeaway container."

"He ate a salad last night," Clint said. "And I've got corn and green beans to go with steaks later. Apparently he eats vegetables if you put them in front of him."

"You cook?" Jeannie sighed. "If you were staying longer, I'd invite you to family dinner on Wednesday and you could explain to Derek why cooking isn't rocket science. I've given up on Phil ever learning. He burned pasta once, how do you even do that?"

"I didn't burn it," Phil protested. "It was just a little brittle."

Jeannie shook her head. "Denial is a terrible thing to see."

There was a sound like laughter turned into a cough and Phil decided that it was probably a good thing he'd never have to live through Jeannie and Clint meeting again.

"Don't you have to get home?" he asked.

"Probably." Jeannie groaned and held out her hands. "Help me up, your chairs are completely impractical for pregnant ladies."

Before Phil could move, Clint was there helping Jeannie to her feet and waiting until she was stable before he moved away. Phil felt something tug in his chest and for the first time he wondered whether he was going to be able to let Clint go when the moment came.

***

Late that night, Clint rested his head on Phil's stomach and looked up at him. Clint looked completely debauched: his mouth was wet and red, his hair was a mess, and there was a dreamy, sated expression on his face. If Phil hadn't still been recovering from the best blow job of his life, he would have been tempted to pull Clint closer and start something all over again.

He was starting to suspect there wasn't a concept of 'enough' when it came to Clint.

"I was wondering," Clint said slowly, his voice a low rumble. "We're leaving fairly early on Tuesday, but I don't need to be back at the grounds until late afternoon tomorrow. It doesn't take me long to pack my shit up and if my guys haven't been able to get big stuff ready then I've done something wrong in their training. So, I was thinking...could you take a vacation tomorrow?"

Phil smiled. "I could."

Clint looked surprised. "Really? You'd call in just like that?"

"You thought I wouldn't?"

"You seem like the workaholic type. Never takes vacations."

"I am." Phil shrugged. "So I've got a lot of time built up. I emailed my office manager earlier to let her know I was taking a day."

"Oh." The pleased expression on Clint's face and the warm, sucking kiss he planted just below Phil's ribs told Phil he'd made the right call. "Figured maybe you could show me the sights or something."

"There aren't really that many sights to see," Phil said. "Your circus is the most interesting thing to happen around here for years."

"Then show me the really dull sights." Clint smiled wickedly. "Show me those bleachers you got caught under with the football captain. Maybe we can try recreating that."

"I'm going to hunt down whoever told you that and kill them. They should never have told you that."

"No, they definitely needed to tell me."

"It's a school, it would be completely inappropriate."

"I guess so." Clint shifted up in the bed so he could share Phil's pillow and sling a leg across Phil's hip. "How about fucking in a cornfield? Could we try that?"

"It's never as much fun as it sounds."

Clint grinned. "Shit, Phil, now we have to do it just so I can prove you wrong."

***

Their plans were disrupted by a phone call while they were eating breakfast. Clint had cooked pancakes and bacon, making cracks about keeping Phil's strength up for the day as he worked, and Phil had been making dry, amused rebuttals to all Clint's lewd suggestions for activities. He was aware that they were both trying too hard to keep everything light and fun because it stopped them talking about later and good-bye.

Phil reached out to snag the ringing phone as Clint flipped the last of the pancakes onto a plate. His smiled melted away when he heard Jeannie's voice and her barely suppressed panic.

"Phil? I need you to take the kids." There were a couple of quick, panting breaths. "As soon as possible."

"I thought you weren't due for another three weeks."

He felt like an idiot the moment he said the words and the harsh snort on the other end of the line told him that Jeannie agreed.

"Tell that to the baby," Jeannie said. "She's working on a different timescale to us."

"Is Derek with you?"

There was a moment of quiet, quick breathing and then Jeannie said, "He's on his way back from the office."

"He went to work?" Phil asked incredulously.

There was some muffled swearing and then Jeannie said, "I thought it was just Braxton-Hicks! My water broke ten minutes ago. Remind me never to do this again."

"You said that the last time."

"Now is not the time for that joke," Jeannie said. "Just get your ass over here and take my children away."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

The line went dead and Phil stared blankly at the phone for a moment before turning it off.

"I guess the cornfield is cancelled," Clint said shrewdly.

Phil turned to look at him and he couldn't do anything except nod.

Clint shrugged. "Guess I should call Nat, get a ride back. This is family shit and you don't want me around for that."

There was no point protesting because Clint was right. Phil's family needed him and asking Clint to stick around while he took care of his niece and nephew wouldn't be fair to any of them. Knowing that this was the logical choice didn't make the sudden ache in Phil's chest go away, though.

"This was fun, though. Right?" Clint looked uncertain. "You and me, it felt good."

Phil tried to smile but he suspected it came out wrong. "It felt great."

"I should go grab my stuff," Clint said awkwardly.

There was a dejected slump to Clint's shoulders as he left the kitchen and Phil wondered, for the first time, whether he'd made a mistake in letting their affair happen. It was hurting more than he'd ever expected now that it was ending.

***

They met in the hall by the front door and for a moment Phil didn't know what to say. Then Clint crowded him against the wall and kissed him as though he was drowning and Phil kissed him with equal desperation and it was wonderful and horrible all at once.

"I'm going to miss this," Clint said when they finally broke apart.

"You'll forget about me ten minutes after you leave town," Phil said, trying to sound dry and unconcerned.

A hurt look flashed across Clint's face for just a moment and Phil swallowed. Clint's expression cleared almost immediately, though, and the wide, mocking grin he plastered on froze Phil's attempts to take his words back in his throat.

"Coulson who?" Clint said.

It was a terrible joke and neither of them laughed. A car horn sounded loudly outside and Clint jerked a thumb to the door.

"That's Nat, I should go," he said. "It's been great, really great."

He picked his bag up and hurried out the door before Phil could think of a reply. Phil watched him climb into a garishly painted van that roared away down the street almost before Clint's door closed.

***

Jeannie and Derek were waiting with Jeannie's bag when Phil arrived. Abby and Jake chattered excitedly about the new baby while Phil drove them back to his house and they spent the day playing games, watching cartoons and bouncing around until Phil was exhausted from just watching them. He decided Jeannie would forgive him for feeding her kids pizza and finally got them settled in his guest room around midnight.

The sheets in Phil's bed still smelled like Clint and sex and he briefly considered stripping and remaking the bed, but he wasn't quite ready to. His dreams, for once, weren't filled with fire and things snapping at him in the darkness. Instead he was haunted by Clint's eyes and lips and he woke up just after dawn, aching and exhausted in all the wrong ways.

Phil stripped the bed and dumped the sheets in the washing machine after he'd taken a very cold shower. Abby and Jake slept on blissfully despite their uncle's activities and Phil envied them a little. It would be years before they'd have to deal with things like unexpectedly falling in love and watching someone leave.

He was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of sludge-like coffee when there was a quiet knock at the door behind him. He turned in his seat to see Clint standing on the deck with a hopeful smile. For a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, because he'd resigned himself to all this ending and now Clint was here again.

"I figured you wouldn't want to scandalise the neighbourhood with me at the front door," Clint said when Phil opened the kitchen door. "And I didn't like the way we left things yesterday."

Phil pulled the door shut behind him so he wouldn't wake the children. "I'm not sure how we can leave things differently. We both went into this knowing it wouldn't last."

"Yeah, about that." Clint took a deep breath and his eyes wouldn't meet Phil's. "If I said that I wanted to stay, would you want me to? Here, with you, I mean."

The words seemed to hang in the air for a long time and Phil felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him. Part of him wanted to say yes, hang onto Clint and never let go again. The more sensible part, the part that chose accountancy over joining secret government agencies and always picked out the plainest ties on the rack, pointed out all the ways this would end badly.

Because it would end, Phil had no doubt of that. Clint wasn't the settling down type. A small, gossipy town like Ashdale would quickly drive him insane and Phil didn't want that. He loved the Clint who flew through the air and shot at impossible targets and pulled out crass, terrible pick-up lines just to see Phil's reaction.

Clint was watching him closely and Phil could see in his eyes that he already knew Phil's answer. He reached out and cupped Clint's jaw before he could turn away, holding him there with one hand so Clint couldn't ignore him.

"It's not that I don't want to say yes, I do," Phil said quietly. "But we've only known each other a week and you're talking about changing your entire life. I can't let you do that because I know you'd end up unhappy here."

Phil felt Clint's jaw work under his fingers as he swallowed and then sighed.

"Fuck, that's exactly what Nat said." Clint smiled weakly. "She's always telling me that I get in too deep, too fast. I think you'd like Nat if you met her."

"Maybe one day I will." Phil rolled his eyes when Clint frowned. "'No' doesn't mean I never want to hear from you again. It means, maybe we should get to know each other better before you make such a big decision."

"I'm kind of leaving town in about ten minutes," Clint said.

Phil gave him his best 'are you being deliberately dense?' look and Clint snorted.

"I presume you'll have cell phone reception," Phil said dryly. "They're one of the more useful modern inventions."

Clint looked thoughtful for a moment and then a slow, breathtakingly beautiful smile spread across his face. "You want to do the long distance thing."

"It's an option." Phil shrugged. "If you want to."

"Could the long distance thing include a lot of phone sex?" Clint asked, his smile turning wicked. "Because I've never done that before and it sounds kind of fun."

"I've never done it either. But I'd be willing to try."

Clint dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Put your number in. I'll message you from the road."

Their fingers brushed when Phil took the phone and he said, "I'd like that a lot." 

He'd barely finished saving the number when there was an impatient beep from the road.

"Guess that's my cue," Clint said regretfully.

"I guess it is."

Their final kiss was sweet and breathless and over much too quickly. Then Clint was vaulting over the side of the deck and jogging away, as though he was afraid that he'd never leave if he didn't do it fast.

Phil's phone buzzed on the kitchen table a couple of minutes after he sat down again. He flipped it open and read the message.

*nat says this thing can send pictures. so. picture.*

The photo was close-up of Clint grinning into the phone, obviously only just taken, and Phil smiled as he carefully saved the number and the picture.

A long distance relationship with a man he'd only know for a few days seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. It might all fall apart after a couple of weeks.

Then again, it might not.

Phil drank his cold coffee and promised himself quietly that he'd do everything he could to make the relationship last a lot longer than a couple of weeks.


	9. Epilogue

Phil closed the trunk of his car and turned to lean against it. He'd tried to tell Jeannie to stay in the house because the early spring air was still cold enough for a jacket and scarf to be necessary. She'd ignored him and bundled little Lucy, the niece who's early arrival last summer had changed so much, into a warm suit so that they could wave him off. Jack and Abby were at school and there had already been one set of tearful farewells when they left earlier.

Jeannie hitched the baby a little higher on her hip and smiled at him.

"Are you still sure about this?" she asked.

"I'm still sure," Phil said in his most reassuring tone. "It's going to be fine, I promise."

"The last time you told me it would be fine, you came home with a busted leg, half your internal organs were gone, and you had so many bruises I barely recognised you," Jeannie said. "I'm not sure we have the same definition of 'fine' anymore."

The cane propped against the car would always be a reminder of that but Phil smiled at her. "This time it's different. I'm driving to Florida, not a warzone."

"I'm not sure there's a difference. It's March. Couldn't you wait until the weather's better?"

Phil raised an eyebrow. "Is it the weather you're worried about or me leaving?"

Jeannie shrugged and gently peeled Lucy's fingers away from the lock of hair she was tugging on. "I'm going to miss you."

"We'll be back in June," Phil said. "Romanov's Circus is going to be right here for at least a week."

"If this works out."

"If this works out. That's why I'm meeting them in Florida." Phil shrugged. "If Clint doesn't want me after all, I can visit Mom and Dad for a while and come back."

"You've sold your share in the practice and you've rented out your house for a year." Jeannie flailed aimlessly with her free hand. "Where would you come back to?"

"I'd take the scenic route. You were the one telling me to rediscover the old adventurous me." Phil smiled at her. "I found him."

"I knew I was going to regret that," Jeannie muttered.

They looked at each other quietly for a while. Phil tried to memorise the moment, with Jeannie looking torn between happy and upset, her hair flying in the wind, and Lucy bundled in five layers and giggling as she tried to catch one of Jeannie's curls again. He'd miss them more than he could express and it was why he'd taken so many months to make this decision.

"I'd better get started," Phil said eventually.

"Yeah, you probably should."

Jeannie hesitated a moment before launching herself at him and he found himself hugging his sister and his niece so tightly it was a miracle Lucy didn't scream. He could hear a couple of quiet sobs in his ear before Jeannie straightened up, wiped her eyes and gave him a watery smile.

"You make sure you call every night so I know you're not lying in a ditch somewhere," she said shakily.

"I will."

"And I want pictures, lots of pictures," she added. "And postcards, Abby and Jake will want cards from everywhere you end up."

"You'll get them, I promise." Phil squeezed her arm and dipped to plant a kiss on Lucy's head. "I'm expecting the same from you. Pictures and video whenever we can get a signal."

"Just try to stop Abby sending you pictures of everything she sees with that camera you gave her," Jeannie said. "Now go, before I try to talk you out of this." 

He moved round to the driver's door and carefully got in, stowing his cane in its usual spot and glancing up at the photo tucked into his sun visor. The quality was terrible because it had been taken on a cell phone and blown up but Phil didn't care. He'd have the real thing in a few days, hopefully. The car started smoothly and he turned on the radio, smiling as the quiet sound of swing music filtered out of the speakers. Jeannie stepped back onto the sidewalk and he waved to her. She waved back and kept waving until he couldn't see her anymore.

***

It took several days to drive to Florida in easy stages with plenty of rests in terrible motels. The weather got warmer as Phil drove further south and he shed his thick jacket gratefully. By the time he neared his destination, it was hot enough to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and loosen a few buttons. He was fairly sure that he was going to get a lot of teasing for arriving in dress pants and neatly pressed shirt, but he still only owned one, ratty pair of jeans that he couldn't quite stand to wear outside the house. Clint was probably going to insist on that changing and Phil was looking forward to whatever methods Clint decided to use to motivate him into going shopping.

Romanov's Circus had set up in an abandoned fairground on the outskirts of Miami and Phil got lost twice when his GPS insisted on directing him onto freeways that took him in completely the wrong direction. Eventually he got out his maps and the directions he'd scrawled down a couple of weeks ago and turned off the GPS.

The familiar big black and white circus tent dominated the site and Phil had to drive slowly and carefully until he worked out how to get to the trailers behind the public area. He spotted Clint's trailer easily, the bright artwork standing out against the silvers and whites of most of the others. A lot of the photos Clint had sent him over the months had been taken with it in the background. Some of them, Phil suspected, had been taken by Natasha when Clint wasn't paying attention. It was the only way to explain the small collection of pictures he'd accumulated of Clint napping on blankets spread out on the grass by his home.

There had been plenty of photos from inside the trailer as well and Phil felt like he could probably draw the interior from memory. Some of those photos had even been of Clint with clothes on. He'd been careful to make sure Jeannie's kids never got hold of his phone because there was never any telling what Clint would choose to send next.

Jeannie's dig a few days before he left about his cell phone bill going down if he did this was a lot closer to the truth than he'd acknowledged to her. He could probably talk to her and the children every night for a year and still not spend as much as his monthly bill had been.

He had no idea how Clint had afforded it all and he suspected that he probably didn't want to know.

They'd sent messages back and forth every day and there hadn't been many days when they hadn't talked as well. Clint was always wired and buzzing after a performance and Phil had fallen asleep with Clint's voice in his ear more times than he could count. In return Clint had talked to him after nightmares, the sleepy sound of his voice more soothing than anything else Phil had ever tried.

The trailer door was open. As Phil pulled up and turned off the engine he could hear the quiet sound of music and Clint's voice singing along surprisingly tunefully. He rolled up the window and climbed out of the car, stretching his leg carefully to work out the stiffness from hours of driving. It probably would have been sensible to take a break but he'd been so close and felt so impatient to just _get there_ that he'd driven straight through from breakfast and it was now mid-afternoon.

The scent of sugar and popcorn wasn't as strong here as he remembered it being closer to the big tent but just the hint in the air made Phil smile. He grabbed his cane, closed the car door, and approached the trailer carefully so he didn't trip on the rough ground.

Knocking on the open door and waiting until he heard the music turn off and Clint call to come in seemed the polite thing to do. Phil pretended that his shaking hands were just the effect of the long drive and not nerves.

Throughout the long days of driving, he'd tried to picture this moment. Dozens of different ways it could play out had gone through his mind, some of them unsuccessful but most of them ending in some variation of him, Clint, a bed, and not letting Clint go for a very long time.

What he hadn't pictured was this: Clint sitting cross-legged on his bed with a pair of his black, sparkly pants in one hand, a needle in the other, and the most disbelieving expression on his face Phil had ever seen.

"Hi," he said, giving Clint a small, uncertain wave.

Clint continued to gape at him.

Phil stepped further into the trailer. It was bigger than he'd imagined it from the pictures but still would have fitted into his living room with space left over. The bed took up at least a third of the trailer, maybe more, and stretched from edge to edge with no space left over so there would be a lot of crawling around in it in his future if he stayed. There were shelves and cupboards above the bed and Phil was encouraged by the sight of half a dozen photos of him stuck where Clint could see them wherever he lay.

"I would have called," Phil said, "but I didn't know when I was going to get here and I wanted this to be a surprise."

Clint snapped his mouth closed and blinked a couple of times before saying, "It is. It really is."

"A good surprise, I hope?"

For the first time since he'd hit the road Phil could feel uncertainty churning in his stomach. He'd been so certain about this and right now Clint was looking at him like he was a purple-spotted monster of some kind. Had he misinterpreted the last nine months?

"That depends," Clint said carefully, "on whether you're really here or whether I've finally lost my mind because I've missed you so fucking much."

Some of the knot of tension in Phil's chest started to melt. "I'm really here."

"Good."

With slow, deliberate movements, Clint stuck his needle into the pants and set them aside. He uncoiled and stood up, all loose limbs and pure grace, and Phil's breath caught in his throat because he'd forgotten just how beautiful Clint was when he moved.

He'd also forgotten that Clint never wore more clothing than he absolutely had to and right now, in the warm stuffiness of the trailer, that meant all Clint was wearing was a pair of baggy combat pants that had been cut off at the knees and barely seemed to be staying on his hips. There was a hint of sparkle on his skin where hadn't been able to get all the glitter off from his last show and his skin was a darker shade of gold than Phil remembered.

His mouth went dry and he couldn't look away as Clint prowled toward him and stopped just at arm's length.

"Why are you here?" Clint asked. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but...what is this?"

Phil gave him a wry smile. "I'm running away to join the circus."

"Shit. Seriously?" A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Clint's mouth but his eyes were still serious. "I know we talked about it a lot, but I didn't believe...I wasn't sure...people don't _do_ this kind of thing. For me."

"I do," Phil said simply.

"What will you do here?"

He shrugged. "I've talked to Natasha - you're right, I like her. I'll be taking care of the business side of things, all that paperwork she doesn't like. She's also asked me to train a couple of people on a knife throwing act and I'm sure we can come up with some other things for me to do. Your mending for a start. Do you even know which end of a needle is up?"

Clint's smile widened and the skin around his eyes crinkled. "Says the guy who burns pasta. Fuck, Phil, you're actually here."

"I'm actually here."

"For how long?"

Phil took a deep breath. "For as long as you'll have me."

"Well, that's kind of a dangerous thing to say." Clint took a step forward and reached for Phil's hand. "I'm pretty sure I'll have you forever if I can."

He lifted Phil's hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the palm. His eyes danced with wicked laughter as he kissed again, his mouth warm and soft against Phil's skin. All the air seemed to disappear from the trailer and Phil couldn't look away as Clint moved closer until they were pressed chest to thigh. His cane fell with a loud clatter as Phil wrapped his arms around Clint.

"I think I can manage that," he murmured against Clint's lips.

Then they were kissing and Phil decided that any other practical concerns could be put aside until much later.

They'd have plenty of time, after all. Maybe a lifetime if he got really lucky.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dreams and Circus Crowds (Cover Art)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801921) by [Insidious Inkstains (sidneybelveire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidneybelveire/pseuds/Insidious%20Inkstains)




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